


The Shinobi's Garden

by taizi



Category: Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles - All Media Types
Genre: Drabble Collection, Gen, Prompt Fic, Prompt Fill
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-17
Updated: 2016-05-30
Packaged: 2018-04-09 21:07:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 33
Words: 29,443
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4364198
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/taizi/pseuds/taizi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>33: "You're too young to hate the world."</p><p>A collection of stories.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Promises (Mikey & Leo)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This drabble was originally posted individually, but I've decided to include it here instead. For organizational purposes.

Mikey dreams of the Shredder taking Leo away to a terrible, dark place. And Mikey is useless and terrified, can't run fast enough or fight hard enough to make a difference, and he wakes up with the Shredder's cruel laughter and Leo's scream still ringing in his ears.

Since the whole family keeps odd hours, Leo's awake when Mikey bursts into his room. One look at his face is all it takes for Leo to sit up in bed and drop his book, reaching out with both hands.

"It was just a bad dream," Leo says gently some time later, and Mikey doesn't answer, tucking his face into the crook of his brother's neck and curling closer.

It's not the kind of nightmare monster big brothers can vanquish, but the strong arms around his shoulders and the steady  _lub-lub_ of Leo's heart behind all that warm cartilage are soothing in an absolute way, and it's only a few minutes before he stops shaking.

Even then, he's not quite ready to move yet, and Leo doesn't seem in any hurry to let him go.

"You haven't done this since we were babies," Leo murmurs, and he sounds so wistful it makes Mikey smile. When he pulls away, Leo lets him go.

"I've kinda wanted to," Mikey tells him. "Lots of times."

It makes Leo smile back, and he rubs a fond hand over Mikey's head. "Well, I'll always be here. Whenever you need me. Okay?"

"Okay," Mikey says, and leaves it at that. When he was little, with the dream still fresh in his mind, Mikey probably would have asked Leo to  _promise. Promise_  he'll always be here, _promise_ he'll never leave. Tonight, Mikey knows better. And he knows Leo hates breaking his word.

So he takes Leo's hand, squeezing tight, and says something that makes his brother laugh. And right there, in the warmth and the candlelight, Mikey makes a promise of his own.


	2. Bad Example (Mikey & Don)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was a fill, and the prompt was: "Raph has seen the way his family reacts when Leo is gone (injured/in a coma/etc.), so he's made it his mission to never let that happen again. He succeeds."  
> It sort of became more of a B Team fic than anything, which just goes to show that Don and Mike are my weakness.

Leo's chair creaks, and his brother storms out of the lab with ice in his eyes, and something brittle in the set of his shoulders and the clench of his fists. Don's not surprised when he hears the heady thuds start up against their punching dummy a moment later, and he wonders if Leo is even aware of how much alike he and Raphael are.

" _Why did he do that?"_ Leo had asked, with something more wounded than fear in his voice; standing at Don's shoulder as the purple-masked turtle finished stitching up the ugly, bleeding tear across Raph's shoulder.  _"He didn't have to do that. I never_ asked  _him to- "_

" _Same reason as you, bro,"_ was Mikey's unexpected reply, more resigned than accusatory, his small hands curled around one of Raphael's; and he hadn't even bothered lifting his head to add,  _"We never ask you to do it, either. Not ever."_

Don turns his gaze from the empty doorway to where his last brother is curled impossibly small in the only chair that's left. He does that when he's scared, tucks himself into some too-quiet, too-thoughtful corner, and Don worries when he does because sometimes– only sometimes– he can be hard to find again.

Not this time, though. Relief is like helium as Mikey leans into Don's reaching hands, light and airy and lifting as he tips a clear gaze up Don's way.

"He'll be okay," Don's compelled to tell him, the words falling off his lips like stale crumbs, and Mikey replies with a crooked smile.

"'Course he will, Doctor Dee," but his eyes give him away, they always do, and Don's heart swells with something tender and fierce. He tugs another chair over by the armrest and parks it close enough to Mikey's that he can wrap an arm around Mikey's shoulders.

He knows what Raph was thinking, when he took the hit meant for Leo. He knows Raph's sick of sitting where Donatello has always sat, watching his family hurt. He knows Raph– reckless and burning and with too much love to prove– thought it would be easier on his little brothers if it were him laid up in the infirmary instead of Leo.

But Leo is attacking the punching dummy with a rage that doesn't belong to him, and Mikey is a ghost of himself, drifting and silent and thoughtful under Don's arm; and Don is sitting where he's always sat, watching his family hurt.

He's tired of sitting here. Mikey's eyes are looking more and more like Leo's with each close call, and Raph could be ten years old under the lights of the infimary and the breathing mask, and Leo is somewhere by himself, ripping apart his knuckles and tearing himself down– and Don is tired of sitting here. And he only has two examples to follow.

So he'll take the next hit– he'll take the next hundred– and pray Mikey has room left in his heart next to all the space Raph and Leo have taken up to forgive Donnie, too.


	3. B Team (Mikey & Don - Wishes AU)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: _"How about from If Wishes Were Fishes? I loved Don and Mikey's relationship. How about Don saving him from some Purple Dragons?"_
> 
>  _Wishes_ was a Human AU I wrote about Mikey growing up accidentally estranged from his biological family. This should be easy enough to follow without having read the source material. (And since that fic took place in Jersey, and there was a distinct lack of Dragons to play with, I had to bend the prompt a tiny bit to make it work.)

They were supposed to wait for Raph and Leo in the cafeteria. When Mikey didn't show up after about ten minutes, Don sighed and resigned himself to combing the halls for him. In the two months he'd been enrolled in their school, their little brother had made what seemed like a dozen friends in every department, and it made trying to find him at the end of the day somewhat like trying to find a needle in a haystack.

 _I guess I'll try the athletics hall first,_ he thought, and his guess was right on the money; he pushed open one of the gym doors, and found Michelangelo… cornered in against the far wall by three older classmen, a basketball under his good arm and a tilt to his head that Don read as Mikey at his most exasperating.

Don could tell at a glance that he wasn't really in any trouble. Mikey was a black-belt; he could take care of himself. Donnie knew that. He knew Mikey had done nothing but take care of himself for most of his life, and he was pretty good at it.

But  _still._

"What the hell is this?" he snapped, sounding more like Raph than he knew he was capable of. Everyone's heads snapped around, and Mikey peeked at him from around one of the seniors with round eyes. "Get away from him.  _Now,"_ he added, striding forward. "Mikey, are you okay?"

"Hi, D!" all excited, like he hadn't just seen him two periods ago in theater, and went bounding away from the wall towards him. None of the other boys did anything to stop him as he pushed his way through, and Donnie had him tucked under his arm a moment later. "Yeah, I'm okay. These guys just had a bone to pick with me about Raphie or something, I dunno. I wasn't really listening."

Donnie didn't  _often_ find himself wishing he had his  _bo_ staff at school; but he did now. He really, _really_ did. He pulled Mikey closer, squeezing a soft  _"oof"_ out of him. "If you have a problem with Raphael," he said to the other three, acidly. "You take it up with Raphael."

But there was a reason they wouldn't do that; pretty much the same reason they were hesitating to make a move on Donatello. Ever since that incident back in junior high, everyone knew the Hamatos could deal some pretty heavy damage.

"No way, they can take it up with me, too," Mikey insisted suddenly, tugging at Don's protective arm. "They got a problem with my bros, then they got a problem with  _me!"_ And Don would appreciate that reckless loyalty later, when he had time to.

"They act like they're better'n everyone else!" one of other kids shouted, and Don narrowed his eyes, commiting his face to memory. He was definitely gonna peruse the school yearbook when he got home to figure out who these jerks were. Just for fun.

"Maybe 'cause they  _are_ better than everyone else," Mikey shot back, face twisting into a scowl, and one of the older students took a single step forward, and, in a manner that was becoming increasingly familiar, Don found himself moving without thinking.

* * *

"Donnie, I'm okay," Mikey piped up for the third time, somewhat muffled against Don's jacket as he was all but smothered in his older brother's arms. "Those guys were nothin', they- "

"I should go back there," Don said over him, staring over Mikey's head at the auditorium doors where they sat at the opposite end of the hall. "Those jerks don't have  _any_ business going near you. I should- "

"Easy, dude. You're starting to look a little psychotic." Mikey poked him in the ribs and Don flinched, releasing his death grip enough for Mikey to slide back on the bench and look up at him. "And I think you did enough already; that one guy's definitely gonna have a shiner tomorrow."

"But  _still- "_

"And I don't really need you fightin' my battles for me," he added starkly, with a blink of those big, moon-like eyes. "Even with this dumb cast, I could take those chumps on my own."

" _Obviously_. But just because you could doesn't mean you should," Don said firmly. "You don't _have_ to. You're not on your own anymore, Mikey. Leo and Raph will say the same thing."

"Yeah, about that…" He grinned crookedly, a meek, imploring thing that shot straight past all of Don's defenses like some kind of guided missile. "Let's not tell them?"

"Mikey…"

"Come on, please? They'll get all angry and worried- they'll get  _angorried_. And it won't be pretty, Raph'll storm around here like a bulldog for weeks, and Leo will go all Darth Vader on anyone who looks at me sideways, and they'll basically stalk me out of love or whatever- and you're their little brother, too, they'd totally stalk you, too- "

"Alright, alright," Don said, unable to help smiling. "How about we make a deal? I won't tell our big brothers when their trouble finds you- but  _only_ if you promise never to keep a secret from me. No matter what it is, you tell me."

Mikey looked like he was considering it. He looked long and hard at Donnie for a minute, then his gaze fell to his hands where they sat in his lap. Something shy crept into his face, and he picked at the orange fiberglass for a handful of moments, and then he blurted, "And whatever I told you, you'd keep it a secret, too? And we'd figure it out together, you and me?"

"Of course!" Don said, warming to the idea exponentially. "It'll be like our own secret club."

Mikey's eyes lit up. "We'll be like Bruce Wayne and Dick Grayson! The Dynamic Duo! Solving crimes and kicking butt! We could be  _Team Batman_ , or… the _Batman Brothers_ … Oh! Donnie, I know!" His enthusiasm was infectious, and Don's grin was every bit as wide as Mikey's when Mikey leaned against his arm and said, his voice a delighted hush, "You and me, we're the  _B-Team!"_

Don rubbed a hand through Mikey's curls fondly, and said, "We're gonna need a code word."

"And a secret handshake!"


	4. Mistake (Mikey & Leo)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the classic "I thought you were dead" prompt.

"Mikey-  _please_ ," Leo said, sounding plaintive and desperate to his own ears. His fingers tightened on his little brother's arm when Mikey strained away. "We're trying to apologize."

"I don't  _want_ you to!" Mikey snapped. He was pushing at Leo's hand, trying to get free, and Leo pulled him closer- afraid in some abstract way that if he let go now, he'd be letting go for a long time. "If you say you're sorry, I'll forgive you! And I don't want to yet, 'cause- 'cause you  _lied,_ you  _left me behind,_ and- " A shuddering breath, a flick of wet blue eyes, the awful truth: "I thought you were all  _dead_."

And with that he was given up, and crying, in that awful, quiet way he always did. Helpless to do anything else, Leo wrapped both arms around him.

It had been unspoken, unanimous between the three of them, to leave Mikey behind. They hadn't known if they'd be coming back from that last mission- hadn't known if taking down Foot HQ once and for all would take them down with it- and if they had to go, then knowledge their baby brother was safe at home would have at least afforded them some peace.

But they made it home, after all, almost a full two days after having set out. The demolition was on the news- their T-phones along with most of their gear buried under tons of rubble- and they returned to find their little brother white-faced and stricken and caught somewhere between faith and terrible grief.

"I'm sorry. I'm really sorry."

Mikey sniffed, a hopeless little sound, and Leo was compelled at a molecular level to somehow  _make it better._

"We didn't mean to hurt you, Mikey- I  _swear._ We were just- "

"I know. I know what you were doing," Mikey muttered, rubbing his face with the heel of one hand; sounding defeated, and so truly miserable he'd never fully come back from it. "You were protecting me. Like always. Trying to keep me safe. But one day it'll be for real, and you won't even  _care_ that you made me all alone, 'cause you'll be gone. You won't be here to see how much I'll miss you every day."

Raph looked like he would never be brave enough to touch their little brother again, both fists clenched so tightly his knuckles stood out white against green skin. Don took a few careful steps forward, so desperately unhappy it rendered him speechless.

And Leo… almost couldn't wrap his mind around just how terribly they messed up this time.


	5. Be Okay (Mikey & Don - Problem Child AU)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Someone wanted a snippet of Problem Child from Raph, Leo or Donnie's POV. So here's Donnie, from the beginning of chapter 3.
> 
>  
> 
> _"Mikey only vaguely remembering being picked up and carried. It seemed like one minute he was sitting in a puddle, and the next he was laying in the backseat of their old Sedan with his head pillowed on a corduroy-clad thigh."_

Mikey's eyes were hooded and vacant; he was blinking slowly, for all that his lungs were heaving in great, gulping sobs for air, and he didn't seem to notice the transition from Raph's arms to the cradle of the worn, warm back seat and Donnie's lap.

Don's heart was an uncomfortable lump somewhere in the bottom of his throat, and his fingers were trembling against Mikey's wet hair.

In the front, Leo and Raph were talking in low tones. Don couldn't quite make their words out over the hum of the tired heater, but Leo's grip on the steering wheel was white-knuckled and what he could see of Raph's face was a sharp mask of worry.

 _What happened to you, little brother?_ Don wondered, feeling sick and scared.  _What made you run away from us?_

It was whole minutes before Mikey spoke—a soft and uncertain, "Donnie?" that came out in a painful sounding rasp, and Don breathed through a worry that  _hurt._

"Yeah, it's me," he said. At least his  _voice_  didn't tremble. "You feeling okay?"

He felt Mikey's chest concave with a sigh, the blond head on his leg turning closer, murmuring something that wasn't quite a 'yes' or 'no'. His face was flushed along his cheekbones and forehead, a burnt red that buried all his freckles and stood out stark against the ghost-like pallor of his skin. It wouldn't be surprising if he had a temperature; he was soaked all the way through, his clothes plastered to his tiny frame, and Donnie struggled against whelming concern that felt like an undertow he could  _drown_  in.

 _God, Mikey, what did you think you were_ doing _?_ His little brother, afraid of monsters and the dark, ran away from home into the sprawling city night, and probably caught  _pneumonia_ for all his troubles _,_ and Donnie just couldn't make sense of it.  _Why did you ever think you had to do that?_ he desperately wanted to ask, pushing a few wet curls out of Mikey's face.  _What made you think you needed to leave?_

He didn't have a chance to ask any questions, because suddenly, softly, Mikey was posing one of his own:

"Why didn't you guys tell me?"

"He keeps saying that," Raphael said, half-turned in his seat, worry that looked more like anger snapping in his eyes. Leo hushed him with a sharp,  _"Raph,"_ and Mikey didn't look totally aware anyone had interjected at all.

Don felt like he was about to swallow his heart, and he leaned over his brother to press his hand to Mikey's damp chest. " _Breathe_ , little brother," he whispered, "or you're going to hyperventilate. Deep breaths, Mikey, slow." But Mikey didn't seem to be listening, his eyelids fluttering at the sound of Don's voice but not much recognition at work in the fever-bright blue behind them.

So he led by example, tightening his arms around his brother and holding him close, so Mikey could feel each breath that Donnie took as he breathed in long, and deep, and slow. And Mikey always  _had_ learned best by practical applications—it was only a few minutes before he heard Mikey's quick, sharp inhalations stutter, and smooth into something more natural.

And Donnie still didn't answer, because he wasn't sure what Mikey was asking. So he stroked his brother's hair, and let him breathe; hoping that between the rain outside, and the brief pockets of passing streetlamps canting dim light into the car, and Donnie's arm around his shoulders, Mikey felt comfortable and safe, and loved enough to never try to leave again.

"Tell you what, Mikey?" he finally asked, when Mikey's heartbeat had decelerated to a more calm and steady pace. Mikey blinked, not quite looking at him, and Donnie glanced out the window for a quick second, managed to make out a street sign through the dark and rain. They were almost home.

"Anything," came Mikey's mumbled response almost a minute later. "I thought everything was okay."

And on top of everything else, Donnie wasn't prepared to watch Mikey cry. Mikey  _never_ cried. He sniveled during movies, or sad cat commercials, or when Raph took the last eggroll at dinner, but he didn't  _cry,_ and the fat tears slipping down his cheeks were so disarming that Donnie felt his own eyes prick, hot and stinging. "I thought everything—"

"It will be," Don blurted. He wiped Mikey's face with the cuff of his sleeve, stroked his hair a little more in some desperate attempt to  _comfort,_ and added, "It will be, I  _promise_."

He had no idea what was wrong in the first place, let alone how to fix it, but he  _would._ He'd fix it, everything would be okay,  _please believe me, Mikey, it'll be okay._

Leo spoke up when they were a few blocks from home, to ask how Mikey was, and Leo's voice was soft and even and tempered, like he was reaching out to a broken-winged bird. It probably had everything to do with the way Mikey had fallen asleep, but Don couldn't help feeling it was partly for his benefit, too.

He didn't need coddling. His big brothers already had enough to worry about.

So he sniffed, and tried to sound normal: "He's exhausted. And probably developing a fever as we speak. But his breathing's normal," he added, pressing his hand against Mikey's sternum again, to feel for the reassuring beat of his heart, "and he finally stopped shaking."

They stopped at a red light, and Don caught the flick of Leo's almond blue eyes in the rearview mirror, darker than Mikey's but every bit as deep and clear. Sometimes, when Leo was happy, or surprised, or excited, he and Mikey looked a lot alike because of that blue.

"We're almost home," he told Donnie, quietly. "Just keep an eye on him."

Don met his gaze in the mirror, with Mikey heavy on his leg and breathing warm against his arm, and said, "Like you even have to tell me. He's the only little brother I've got."


	6. Strawberry Fields Forever ("In Dreams" episode tag)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The prompt was "Strawberry picking!" This also works as a sort of a tag to the "In Dreams" episode.

Mikey was pretty sure he was awake. Dave Beaver and his candy world were long gone, and Mikey was standing on the porch by himself. He blinked, and cast his gaze around, taking a few unguarded steps off the veranda.

"Over here, Mikey," he heard Raph call, from what sounded like the backyard. He headed that direction on autopilot, following his brother's exasperated tone around the side of the building. "Jeez, you slept  _forever_. We were startin' to think you'd never wake up."

There was a retort on his lips as he rounded the corner—he always had a zinger or two on standby—but his mouth dropped open instead in  _wonder._ There was a strawberry field behind the farmhouse—wide and sprawling and forever, how had Mikey missed that before?

He'd  _always wanted_ to go berry picking, he saw it on T.V. all the time and he thought it looked so  _fun!_ But there was no way, really; orchards and farms that opened to the public only operated in the daylight hours, and April said they were always busy besides, so there was no way for any mutant turtles to partake of the fun.

Except, there was a whole field right there, in the O'Neils' private plot of land, and  _that_ meant—

"Let's go berry picking!" Mikey exclaimed, spinning on his heel to face his family. "We can pick a bunch, and I can make shortcake with them tonight! Can we, please?"

Leo smiled at him, strong and sturdy and without any trace of those pale, tired shadows in his eyes. And he was standing without a crutch! Did that mean his leg was all better? When had _that_ happened? Mikey beamed at him, deciding it didn't really matter as long as Leo wasn't hurting anymore.

Casey came out the front door with a few wicker baskets tucked under his arm, for the sweet haul of berries they were gonna have by the end of the afternoon, and April was sitting on the porch steps with sensei, both of them cradling cups of cool tea in deference to the summer heat and smiling across the yard at him, and then Leo said, "Sure, Mikey. We'll stay out here as long as you want."

Raph complained about bugs about a thousand times, and Casey complained about the muggy heat, but Donnie was laughing without any of that tired guilt in his face, and Leo was bringing April and sensei a handful of plump, red berries without a single limp to his stride, and Mikey straightened up for a moment to smile across the strawberry field at his family.

* * *

"So  _this_ is what keeps 'em in the Dream Realm?"

" _Yeah._  Wait, what're you— _no!"_

And Casey brought his bat down hard on the stupid book, the portal hidden inside splintering with a satisfying crunch _._ Almost immediately the turtles shifted, and a moment later their eyes were open. Leo and Raph were sitting up from their respective spots on the couch and armchair, Donnie groaning in April's arms. All three of them moving stiffly, but they were _awake,_ and Casey felt tension roll off his shoulders in waves.

"You're okay!" April exclaimed, planting a kiss on Donnie's cheek, and Donnie—didn't even crack a smile. He looked right past her, wrapped large hands around her shoulders and moved her gently to one side. Casey watched the relief drain out of her face, at the same time worry kicked its way with a vengeance back into Casey's chest.

"Don?"

He followed Donnie's eyes to their youngest brother—still curled up in the rocking chair, still asleep,  _still dreaming._  Within seconds the older turtles were grouped around him, Don reaching out with a practiced hand to feel for his pulse.

"I didn't see—guys, did you see him?" he asked, scanning Mikey's face carefully, and Raph shook his head.

"I didn't see him," he returned with a snap, tone sharp. If Casey didn't know him so well, he'd have thought Raph sounded furious—but Casey  _did_  know him, and that wasn't anger in Raph's voice, not even close. Next to him Leo settled beside the chair on his knees—injury be damned, apparently— and reached out to take Mike's face in both hands. The leader's blue-banded eyes were fierce with fear, and that look in his eyes was the same bite in Raph's voice when Raph continued, "You, me 'an Leo were all there when they tossed us in that dream together, but Mikey wasn't."

"This doesn't make sense," Bernie said abruptly, on his knees with the broken pieces of the book and its hidden portal scooped together in his hands. "With the  _Obturaculum_ broken, the beavers should be free to leave their pocket dimension and enter our world, so why haven't they?"

"And why isn't Mikey waking up from his nightmare?" Don whispered, about a hundred thoughts working frantically behind his dark eyes. His fingers were shaking against Mikey's throat, as the smallest turtle's heartbeat grew fainter and fainter. "The rest of us did, so _why…"_

"It's not a nightmare," April said. She was pale with worry, her eyes the crisp, fierce blue before tears. "I think—I think it's a  _good_ dream." As understanding dawned on the rest of them, as Leo's hands tightened where they cradled Mikey's head, their sister added softly, "I think he wants to keep dreaming."

Almost as if on cue, Mikey's lips curled a bit in a smile.


	7. Used to Know (Mikey & Leo)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the prompt "Leo and Mikey are sparring, and Mikey pins him."

Mikey's eyes were blank and narrowed, and curled with mirth to match the stranger's smile stretched across his face. He forced Leo to the ground with a knee planted against his plastron and the blade of his scythe cradling Leo's throat.

"Got ya," he sangsong- and his voice was the same, still boyish and charming, as it was when they lost him whole weeks ago. "Don't think you can run, big brother."

Leo wasn't planning on it.

Getting pinned hadn't been on the agenda, Don and Raph's panicked voices in the comm in his ear testament to that; but getting close had been, and Mikey's face twisted in shock at the rough puncture of a needle in his leg. Leo didn't give him time to react, pushing the plunger and emptying the syringe, and then catching his black-banded brother against his chest when Mikey slumped like a sodden rag doll.

"Got ya," he said quietly, and waited for their brothers to come.


	8. Marchin' On (Mikey & Raph)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the prompt "Raph facing a fear with help from his brothers!"

Raph dreams in red. Dripping from his fists, pooling a puddle on the floor. Sometimes it's Leo, sometimes it's Donnie or sensei, but usually it's  _Mikey,_ and he never minds the nights Raph has to find him and shake him awake.

"Wh… Raph? What's… Oh. Hang on."

He remembers with a pang that Mikey got a little roughed up during patrol earlier—he moves stiffly as he sits up, and there's a mottled bruise on one side of his face that his mask only partly covers as he ties it on. But by the time he's on his feet, he's steady and smiling, and gestures grandly for Raph to lead the way.

They slip to the dojo on stealthy feet, finding their way by memory through the darkness so the rest of their family can sleep. They pull the doors closed and light the candles, and fill the room with gold and warmth. Mikey stretches his arms high overhead.

"All set when you are, Raphie," he says with a grin, his teeth white and whole—unstained and unbroken. The nightmare's lingering fingers are peeled away slowly, and Raph doesn't quite smile back, but Mikey can always tell when he's ready.

His kid brother is a challenge when he wants to be, a whirling dervish of bottomless energy, and he laughs when Raph almost kicks him off his feet. Used to be they'd make sure to wake up sensei, too, so he'd be there to play referee (in the  _early_ days, when Raph barely trusted himself to hold a  _tonfa_ , let alone spar his brother unsupervised) but tonight it's just the two of them. They circle each other, every step practiced and familiar, because they've been here a hundred times before.

This whole thing was Mikey's idea, back when the red dreams were at their worst. Too many nights of finding Raph tired and black-eyed at the breakfast table, Raph guessed; too many days of Mikey's big brother flinching away from him, yielding every spar because it was better than the  _risk_ of letting Mikey too close.

 _"That's it!"_ Mikey had come apart one day, and within a second he'd been in Raph's face, worry and frustration and love bleeding together into something fierce, lending his voice an extra, uncharacteristic snap.  _"You're gonna_ fight _me, Raph. I'm not letting you walk away anymore."_

And Mikey's method seemed strange at first, but it surprised the family by working like a charm. Raph's brothers are never more alive than they are at play, enthusiastic and exhilarated, grinning widely and moving with loose-limbed skill through familiar forms and favorite katas—when Raph can face them across the mat, feel their solid warmth against his hands as they trade blocks and blows, listen to them taunt and laugh and  _breathe._

In the beginning, he never won these late-night spars. That's not what it was about. Tonight, though, Mikey hits the mat with an  _oof_ and groans. Raph stands over him, and it's almost exactly like the red dreams—

_"Raph, wait—wait!"_

_—_ until Mikey opens his eyes and tells him plainly, "You suck."

"So much for the undefeated champ, huh?" Raph returns dryly, but he's not unsympathetic as Mikey sits up with a wince. "Sorry for breaking your streak, bud."

"I'll get it back," he says loftily, and then grins, big and wide. "Hey, before we go back to bed, will you show me how to do that twisty thing you did right before you threw me? I wanna use it on Leo tomorrow."

Raph's heart twists with something tender and fierce, but it doesn't show on his face as he rolls his eyes and grumbles about knuckle-headed little brothers.

 _"You may be scared of you,_ _but I'm not,"_ Mikey had told him way back when, with blazing blue eyes and something iron in each and every word. _"_ _I mean it, bro—I'm not going anywhere. So get up."_

"Just take it easy, Raphie. I'm  _delicate,_ okay? Handle with care!"

"Oh please, y'ain't made of  _glass,_ kid. C'mon, get up."

When he puts out his hand, Mikey takes it; and Raph hauls him back onto his feet.


	9. Central Rain (Mikey & Don)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For moogsthewriter, who prompted, "One (or more) of the boys gets caught outside in a torrential thunderstorm." So here it is, 2k7-style! Pre-movie, when Leo's still AWOL and Raph's still busy with not being part of the family.

Don was perched on the edge of the couch, T.V. remote clutched in a white-knuckled hand as the storm radar boasted "record-breaking winds" and "torrential rain" and "marble-sized hail."

"Residents of the city are urged to stay off roads until the severe weather advisory ends at 2 A.M. tomorrow morning," the weather anchor reported, and Donnie felt his heart sink.

Mikey should have been home by now.

"He shouldn't be out in this!" Don muttered, more to himself than the empty room around him. "He should have  _canceled,_ he should have checked the weather before he left—someone should have checked for him," and his throat was choking up, there was a pressure behind his eyes that caused them to sting and water.

Someone should have been looking out for him.

They'd had a fight before Mikey left for work. Donnie didn't even remember how it started, couldn't even remember what all was said–he'd been busy, with a customer on hold and three others in the queue–but he knew it was probably something stupid.

Probably his fault.

(Maybe once upon a time it would have been easy to blame Mikey—back when Mikey played jokes and pulled pranks, and laughed every bad thing away like a duck shaking off water, back when Mikey had a stable home and a stable family and stable big brothers to turn to—but Mikey didn't do much of anything anymore, didn't  _have_ much of anything anymore. Not since Leo never came back.)

Work made Don  _mean,_ he knew that. His temper rivaled Raphael's these days, especially when coupled by sleepless nights and missed meals, and from the first call of the day his patience was already worn paper-thin.

They had a  _fight,_ and Mikey was leaving anyway—the foam costume head tucked under his arm, the false zipper fitted to his plastron—and that felt like all the excuse in the world to tell him to  _"just get out."_

The stunned look in those wide blue window eyes was all it took to pull Don up short. And then, like shutters closing, that look was gone and so was Mikey.

 _"Fine! I will!"_ And he had snatched up his skateboard, snatched up the bag they'd managed to condition him to carry topside (phone, money, flash bombs, the usual stuff) and shoved his way past Raphael to the hidden door, yelling hurt and heartfelt, " _I_ hate _it here!"_

The door seemed to slam for an hour, the sudden silence of Mikey's departure its own presence in the room. Raph had given Don an unreadable look, gold eyes glinting in the semi-darkness, somewhere between confused and disapproving and, if Don was feeling generous, maybe worried, too.

 _"I know I ain't been much of a brother lately,"_ he'd said, quietly. " _But from where I'm standin', it looks like you ain't been either."_

And now Mikey wasn't answering his phone. Two accidents had been reported in the last hour, three people were in the hospital, and Mikey was out there somewhere, driving an old van with terrible suspension and worn tires; that stupid van needed all the work in the world, but there were always better things to do,  _and now_ –

What if he was  _hurt?_ What if he thought he couldn't come home?

Leo was gone, and they were only barely getting by. How was Don supposed to do this without Mikey, too?

With a hiss of pipes, and the grinding of brick and stone, the hidden door to the sewer tunnel opened. Don sucked in a breath that got stuck in his throat, lurching to his feet and turning toward the entry way–

And he could have fallen over in relief.

"Before you say anything," his baby brother grumbled, soaked through and dripping all over the floor as he made his way inside, "I  _know_ I'm late. I know I shoulda called. My phone's jacked up, so you can yell at me about that, too. Just lemme eat first, and then you can– _"_

But at that point, Don had crossed the room to him in three strides; tore the sodden bag and the skateboard out of his hands, tossed them to the floor, and pulled the younger turtle into his arms.

Thank  _god._

He could feel Mikey go a little stiff in his arms. Barely caught the muttered, "um," felt Mikey's hands come up tentatively around him in turn.

"Is this a trap?" he asked carefully, and Don tugged him a little closer, laughing wetly. "Hey… are you  _crying?_ Dude, what–"

"Sorry," Don said, because it mattered so much. "I'm sorry. Welcome home."

And it took a little longer than it should have–longer than it would have two years ago–but then Mikey was hugging him back, strong arms squeezing him tight around the middle in a way that used to make them both laugh, warm and silly and _Mikey._

"Don't be stupid, Donnie," he said, simple and forgiving, and more understanding than he ever got credit for. "You can't get rid of me  _that_ easy."


	10. Tiara Templar (Casey)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sort of an episode tag? Based entirely off one line of dialogue from "Eye of the Chimera," when Mikey announced he loved tiaras.

The theater department was getting ready for some sort of play, and a bunch of drama club kids were getting their props prepped and painted during lunch in the cafeteria. One girl had a tote full of dollar-store tiaras, all sparkly, silver plastic done up with multicolored beads and loops of ribbon; they caught Casey's eye on his way past, and he stopped by the table without thinking to say,

"My kid brother would  _love_ those."

The girl at work paused to glance up at him, then smiled. She was from his homeroom. "Oh yeah? I didn't know you had a little brother, I've only heard you talk about a sister."

Casey shrugged one shoulder, not near as flustered as he was the first time the B-word slipped out.

(He'd been ordering pizza from his cellphone in the turtles' kitchen- "What's the biggest size pie you got? 'Cause I need like five of them. Hell yeah, I'm serious, you should see how much my brothers eat." And then he'd drawn up short, in a moment of "what the  _what_ did I just say?"

Splinter had been the only one around at the time, and Casey's head snapped up to pin him with a wide-eyed stare. But before he could stammer out a stupid-sounding apology, the rat had smiled at him warmly over the rim of his tea cup, and said, "And which of my boys was it who won the taco eating contest last week, Casey Jones?"

Casey had promptly colored, ducking to cover a pleased smile. Yeah, that winner had been him.)

And by now it was easy to say, "Yeah, I got four brothers, too. They're a pain in the butt half the time but, hell, that's family for ya'."

"I hear that," the girl- Rachel? Rachelle?- said with a crooked grin. "I have a big sister, and two little ones, and half the time I'm not sure if I wanna give them a hug or push them down the stairs."

"Sounds about right."

He'd been sitting with April at their usual table by the window, and from where he stood, Casey could see her starting to glance around the cafeteria for him. He'd told her he was only getting up to get a drink, in a few more minutes she'd start to think he was trying to bail on their study session.

So he turned, started to say see-ya-later, when Rachelle sat back and gave the tote bag a tap.

"Hey, I have a ton of extra tiaras. Do you wanna take one home for your brother?"

"Seriously?" Casey blinked at her. "That'd be okay?"

"Oh, sure. What's his favorite color?"

And Casey felt himself start to smile, and opened his mouth to tell her orange, closely followed by yellow, then pink, (the kid had a thing for bright colors) when a voice from the next table beat him to it.

"Is your brother a fag or somethin'? 'Cause I wouldn't talk about my brother, either, if he was a fag."

It was Peters, from the baseball team, turned sideways in his chair to give Casey the fisheye. They'd butted heads once or twice, usually over something stupid, but the baseball and hockey teams didn't have much to do with each other, and Casey didn't think too strongly of Peters one way or another.

Well. He  _hadn't_ , anyway.

Because now his blood was running cold, spreading something numb and hateful through his body, and he felt his fists clench almost on their own.

Bad enough the bad guys wanted his friends  _dead_. Bad enough they looked so different they had to live in the sewers. Bad enough the same people they helped every night would sooner run from them in fear or disgust than say  _thank you_.

Casey didn't think he was  _capable_ of listening to some ignorant asshole talk trash without teaching him what a broken face felt like.

So he took a step to face him, right there in the middle of the cafeteria. "You wanna say that again?"

A few of Peters' friends got the message. One of them reached out to give Peters a nudge, said somethin' like "leave it alone, man, Jones is crazy," and Casey only felt the thinnest thread of satisfaction when the smug grin on Peters' face faltered.

Casey didn't keep his brothers a secret because he was ashamed of them. And that anyone might think so really,  _really_ pissed him off.

"Here's the thing, dude," he said quietly, less for effect, and more because he didn't trust himself not to start swinging once he started yelling. "My brothers are the best guys in the world. You show me anyone,  _anyone_ , and yeah, I'll tell you my brothers are better. And I owe 'em a lot."

A lot of people were listening. Peters' buddies were looking a little pale. And Peters was just staring at him- looking, surprisingly, like he was absorbing the message Casey was trying to impart.

Good.

"So  _I_ know they deserve all of whatever makes 'em happy, but  _you_ don't. You don't know 'em from anyone off the street. And you're sittin' here throwin' an ugly word around like it makes you better, talkin' about people you don't even  _know_. Well, guess what- it doesn't make you better, it makes you a jackass," Casey said plainly, and heard someone from Rachelle's table snort. "So I'm gonna take a tiara home for him, and he's gonna go crazy for it, and probably wear it around all over the place for about a week straight. And if he's gay, he'll let me know when he figures it out, and I'll love him same as I already do. And the next time I hear you- or anybody, really- call  _anybody_ a fag is the last time you're gonna have teeth."

Peters blinked at him. His friends looked like they wanted to sink through the floor and disappear. Casey thought he'd have to thank Raph for sharing that temper control thing Master Splinter taught him awhile back, 'cause owning somebody by talking them down was  _almost_ as satisfying as breaking their nose.

He turned back to Rachelle's table and said, "His favorite color's orange."

Rachelle plucked the appropriately colored tiara out of her tote bag and handed it over. "That was almost  _cool_ , Jones," she said with a wide smile, and Casey smiled back.

"Thanks. I'm an almost cool dude."

* * *

That night, when Casey hopped the turnstiles of the abandoned subway station, the whole clan was in the main room of the lair. Don was on his computer, Raph was flipping through a magazine; Leo and Mikey were planted in front of the T.V. playing an ancient version of Mario Kart, and Splinter was sitting nearby, watching over his children with warm brown eyes.

Sometimes looking at them made something in Casey's chest ache. Tonight, though, he grinned, and stepped down into the sunken part of the room to claim the seat between Raph and Don. Shrugging off his backpack, he tugged open the zipper and started rummaging.

"Yo, Mikey- got you somethin', dude."

Mikey perked up, glancing around, and his eyes went about as round as the moon when they landed on the tiara. "Oh,  _wow!"_  Raph sort of chuckled, without the cruelty kids at Casey's school were capable of; and from behind Mikey, Casey saw Leo crack a smile. Casey handed it over, and laughed when- after delicately plucking the cheap plastic out of Casey's hands, like it was really made of silver and jewels- Mikey threw his arms around him. "Thanks, Casey, this is  _rad!"_

"Where on earth did you get that?" Don asked, and Casey shrugged.

"Girl at school had 'em. So you like it, Mike?"

"I love it!"

And that was all that mattered.

* * *

A few days later, Rachelle and her girlfriend joined Casey and April at their lunch table by the window. They held hands above the table instead of under, and no one had anything to say about it.

A few days after that, Peters joined them, too.


	11. First Impressions (Mikey & Raph - Wishes AU)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had a couple people request a scene from my _If Wishes Were Fishes_ AU, where the Hamatos meet Mikey's buddy Leatherhead for the first time. So here it is!

It was testament to how well-integrated Mikey was into the family by now that he could burst into his brother's room at full speed, without stopping to apologize for knocking everything over that lay in his path or wither even a little at Raph's heated glare.

"Raphie, we have a  _code red_ situation! _"_ He windmilled to a stop a few steps short of Raph's bed, looking pretty frantic for someone in plushy alligator slippers. "Leatherhead's last class was canceled, so he left like four hours ago, and I didn't get his messages till just now cause my phone was dead!"

Raph felt his scowl loosen up just a little. A year ago, Mikey would have been in a  _panic_ if his phone had anything less than a fifty percent charge, and he'd kept it attached to his person at all times, like some kind of pacemaker.

It was just another mark of damage a lifelong string of broken homes did to the kid. And there were tons of marks, but some of them were already fading away, and Raph couldn't help feeling vindicated every time he found Mikey's phone buried under a couch cushion, or saw the kid's nunchucks hanging on the weapons wall where they belonged.

"So he'll be here early," Raph said, a little gruffly, to make up for how soft his head went around the freckled menace, "what's the problem?"

"The problem? I don't have anything ready, Raph!" Mikey tugged on his arm, looking downright distressed. "I don't have the movies, or the snacks, or  _anything,_ I was gonna do it all this morning. Come help me!"

"Alright, alright. Jeez. Go get some shoes on, I'll ask sensei for the car keys." Mikey made a glad noise and ran out again as wild as he'd come, slipping clumsily on the smooth hardwood floor of the hall. "And hey, bug Leo or Don next time!" Raph shouted after him. But it was okay that he did, since they both knew he didn't mean it for a second.

* * *

"So tell me about this guy," Raph said, as they waited in line at the self-checkout. They had a cart-full of junk food, pizza, some bargain-bin movies, and- amazingly- a two-season boxset of _Crognard the Barbarian_. Looked like the kid was set, but the line was moving at a turtle's pace and Mikey was getting antsy. "Leatherhead, right? What kinda name is that?"

"His real name's Heather," Mikey said, like that made any sense. He was on his tiptoes, craning to see over the dude in front of them, and sank back down with huff. "There's no way we're gonna beat him home."

"What are you so worried about? It's not like dad's gonna make him wait on porch." Raph rolled his eyes, then drew up short at Mikey's expression. "Wha...dude. He's  _not."_

"Well, some people think he looks scary," the kid said, looking equal parts embarassed and defensive. He pushed the cart forward a few steps as the line moved up, studying the handle bar under his hands like it was the most fascinating thing in the world. "He has a pretty bad rap, but it's not his fault. He's the nicest guy ever."

Raph watched him out of the corner of his eye. Curiosity was burning inside him like a sun, but as a rule, they generally didn't pry too much about the places Mikey went to before he came to them. Anything to avoid watching his eyes get dim and lonely.

But Mikey always told them when they asked. So Raph shrugged his hands into his pockets, trying to adopt something casual. "So you two are pretty good friends?"

"Oh, for sure. I talk to him online and stuff all the time. I just haven't seen him in awhile, 'cause- well, I never invited him over, really. I don't think any of my foster families would have given him a chance."

Raph thought of the Campbells- which was usually a bad idea, given that a large part of him wanted to set their lawn on fire- and tried to imagine a guy named Leatherhead showing up at the front door of their posh Colonial style house for any reason whatsoever.  _Yeah, that would have gone over_ real  _well._

"To be fair, your foster families were shitty," he said plainly, rewarded when Mikey cracked a smile. He still looked nervous, though, and he kept shooting glances at the big digital clock on the wall, so Raph gave his shoulder a shove. "Stop stressing out. It's gonna be fine."

And it would, Raph knew it would. No matter who Leatherhead was in Manhattan, or what he looked like, or how everyone else in the whole world treated him, the Hamatos were going to do everything in their power to make him feel welcome.

Mikey didn't get it yet, but he'd cotton on eventually.

* * *

When they pulled back up the driveway, Leatherhead  _was_ on the porch; and Raph parked as quick as he could, because Mikey was already scrambling to get out the door. Leo and Don were sitting with him, hands cradling glass bottles of cream soda, faces cradling wide smiles, and they were all looking towards the car as Raph killed the engine and climbed out.

Yeah, he could see how Leatherhead might look scary. The dude was huge, tall and towering and thick with muscle. He could see why the tattoos cuffing his arms, the burns trailing up his neck from the collar of his shirt might be off-putting.

But he had a grin that could have split his face in two, and only barely had time to put his drink aside and get to his feet before Mikey was slamming into him like a tiny freight train. And he wrapped those huge arms around Mikey’s shoulders in a fond, familiar way as Mikey unleashed an ecstatic stream of loud _“so good to see you”_ s. And Raph thought first impressions were over-rated, and anyone who took a second glance at the dude would have had second thoughts about him, too.

"It’s good to see you, too, Michelangelo,” he said, in a voice as warm as it was rough and gravelly, and he rubbed a hand through Mikey’s hair in the same way Casey and April and Mikey’s brothers all did. “It’s been a long time.”

He helped haul in all the stuff from the store, and they settled around the kitchen island as Raph put everything away. Donnie was asking Leatherhead a hundred questions about the classes he was taking at NYU, while Leo studied the tattoos on his arm with keen interest in his eyes.

And it really came as no surprise when their father put a warm hand on Leatherhead's shoulder later that evening as they all ate dinner together, and said, "Please know that you are always welcome in our home."

But Leatherhead looked a little surprised, anyway; and Mikey caught Raph's eye from across the table, and  _beamed._


	12. No Way Out (Mikey & Don)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The prompt was, "Explosion. Turtles trapped in collapsed building. No way out kinda thing." Anon also wanted "touchy moments of angst and whatnot." So here we are.

Donatello woke up to the quiet, muted sound of sobbing. And he knew it was the sound that had urged his eyes open, more than it was the creeping cold or the dull, throbbing pain in his leg, because he probably would have heard his little brother crying from as far away as outer space.

"Hey- hey, it's okay," Don said, or thought he did. Everything came out in a confused, slurring jumble, his voice rasping and tired. But there was a hitch of breath, and the hands Don hadn't noticed cradling his shoulders tightened there.

"Donnie?" Mikey sounded impossibly young and impossibly scared, but only because Don knew him so well. Otherwise, his brother's voice was soft and smooth, like a love-worn quilt, and he formed his next words in a way that made it clear he was smiling. "You with me for real this time?"

"I think so." Don didn't remember waking up before. "Did I hit my head?"

"Yeah, you must've. And your leg was bleeding earlier, but I wrapped it up." His fingers were curling too hard against Donnie's arms. "I tried to keep you awake, but I couldn't."

"It's okay, Mikey," Don repeated, and he'd repeat it a hundred times if he had to. He started to sit up, stopped halfway when a wave of vertigo let him know it was a bad idea, and ended up leaning into Mikey's plastron instead. His brother didn't seem to mind at all, bundling Don up close. "Raph and Leo?"

"They're not here. I couldn't look very far, I didn't want to leave you."

Don racked his brain, trying to remember. They'd been in an old steelworks factory, one of Hun's properties, headed toward the lower level. Overheard Purple Dragons talking about a shipment of some kind for the Shredder, overheard where Hun had stashed it for safekeeping, and it had so  _obviously_ been a trap, what had they been  _thinking?_

"The ceiling came down," Don said slowly, trying to reconcile his broken understanding with the evidence of the dark, and the loose rubble under his fingers. Trying not to think of his brothers lying hurt or trapped somewhere under the ruined concrete and twisted metal. Trying not think of how long Mikey must have sat there, alone in the dark.

"Yeah. Crazy dude blew us up."

"Have you tried calling for help?"

"I can't get a signal." Mikey moved, and a moment or so later he was pressing a familiar shell-shaped phone into Don's hand. "I sent out the Bat-signal awhile ago, but I don't know if anyone got it. I think Casey and April are still in school."

Donnie was prepared for the wash of blinding light from the screen as he unlocked it, squinting through the painful sting; and he was prepared, as he turned the phone around to illuminate the room, for the solid walls of wreckage boxing them in. But he wasn't prepared to look up at Mikey, intent on asking him how far out he had dared look for their brothers, and see dry blood on his face.

He gasped, and inhaled a lungful of dust for his trouble. Mikey helped him upright to cough it out again, thumping him on the carapace until he could breathe. "You didn't tell me  _you_ were hurt," he accused with a bite, though it probably would have sounded a lot more fearsome had it come out in less of a wheeze. "Come here, let me see- "

Mikey shook his head, easing Donnie back down again. "It's just a scratch, dude. Our ceiling went a little loosey-goosey awhile ago, and shook some stuff down. It's not even bleeding anymore. So just stay put."

"You don't get to boss me around, I'm older than you."

"Age doesn't count when you pass out, bro, we agreed on that  _forever_ ago."

They certainly had (mainly to use as a trump card against Leo in any similar situation) but Don could be every bit as stubborn as Leonardo under the right circumstances. He scowled, and reached up with one hand to feel around to the back of Mikey's head with careful fingers for the cut. In the dim light of the cracked shellcell, he could make out tear tracks cutting through the dirt and blood on Mikey's cheeks, and it sent a pang through him.

Mikey was a ninja, and he was a good one, but he so  _hated_ being alone in dark. And it must have been terrible on him, sitting in a black pit with the deadweight of an unresponsive brother in his lap.

"Let's try to find our way out of here, okay?" Don sat up, and met no resistance this time; Mikey's helpful hands braced his carapace and shoulders as he picked his way gingerly to his knees. "We should be able to- "

Without much warning, something above them gave way with a shriek. Don tensed, sixteen years of training driving his muddled senses into focus. He seized his brother closer, using his height and size to his advantage and curling over him completely, and braced himself in the two seconds he had to spare. He heard Mikey say his name, high-pitched and distressed, and wished there were time and words enough to communicate how  _sorry_ he was that Mikey was probably about to be alone in the dark all over again-

"-onnie, it's  _April_ ," that was Mikey, those were his hands pressing urgently against Don's plastron. "April's here, she's- and Leatherhead!"

Whole slabs of broken concrete were moved aside like puzzle pieces, and Donnie straightened just enough to lift his eyes- sure enough, the room they were in was illuminated by the headlights of the Shellraiser a level above them, parked lopsidedly over a pile of brick and rebar and a toppled wall it looked like they'd driven straight through; and a familiar, giant alligator was reaching for them with two scarred hands.

"My friends," he said, his voice a low rumble, "I am so  _glad_ we've found you."

Donnie stared at him, and eased his way at Mikey's insistent tugging into the crook of Leatherhead's arm. The lift out was dizzying, Don's head canting this way and that drunkenly, but he could make Slash's hulking figure out over Leatherhead's shoulder, and Raph cradled limp in his arms. Casey shot Don a wan smile, his arms full of a Leo who could _"walk on my own, Casey, really,"_ and April was pressing a kiss to Mikey's face, desperate relief and love in every line of her body when she reached out to Don in turn.

Their friends were covered in a fine, gray layer of grit and dust, and April's hands and fingertips felt rough against Don's cheek.

"We've got you," she said, and he leaned against her, and closed his eyes. He fell asleep to gentle voices, and the quiet, muted sound of Mikey's laughter (tired, relieved, heartfelt) above everything else.


	13. Parables and Proxies (Mikey & Don)

“You never listen to me!” Mikey’s voice was shrill and distressed, his hands balled into fists that shook. “You never, ever listen, and  _now_ look!" 

Don watched something painful happen to Leo’s eyes, their leader frozen in place by the same spell that had glued Don’s feet to the ground. Next to him, Raph was fallen and gasping, arching in desperate attempts to breathe, and he seemed to lose more color with every second. "Mik- brother,  _please_. We don’t have time.”

The  _kitsune_ swished her tail, eyes shining like lamps in the falling dark, and Don hated the smug smirk on her muzzle,  _hated_ it. He thought back to the stories their father told them when they were growing up, those familiar Japanese parables of dangerous tricksters and clever heroes, and wondered how they had fallen so completely under the creature’s spell even with a childhood of fairy tale warnings behind them.

Not Mikey, though. Mikey remembered the stories, down to the last word, the last stroke of kanji, and it was the only reason they weren’t  _all_ lost to her mercy.

“Your brother is right. Make your choice, clever little  _kame_ ,” the  _kitsune_ said to Mikey warmly, with something almost impressed in her tone of voice. “You’ve certainly earned it. There aren’t many children your age capable of matching wits with a fox.”

Mikey sobbed once, and it was a terrible sound, and Don watched it tear straight through Leo like a blade. 

“Say my name,” Leo said urgently, trying to surge forward. The only way he had of making amends, the only way he had of protecting his precious family. “It’s okay. I’ll find some way back home. Just tell her my name, little brother.”

“N- no.” Raph struck out a hand, grabbing Leo by the ankle; despite his heaving chest, the way his breath was caught in his throat, his face was still fierce and sharp. “Don’t. Don’t give her anythin’, don’t- ”

But Don had the advantage of knowing Mikey better than anyone. And Don knew what Mikey was thinking, when his eyes dropped from Leo to Raph, and then swung up to meet his own. Knew what it meant, when Mikey rubbed his face dry with the heel of one hand, when his mouth hardened into a firm line.

And the world might as well have fallen out from under Donatello, as the pieces finally came together with all the force of tectonic plates colliding. He reached out for his baby brother uselessly, a hundred pleas and apologies on the tip of his tongue, but it was hopeless, like trying to stop a trainwreck with nothing but two bare hands and a desperate heart. 

Because Mikey knew exactly what he was going to do, from the very moment his brothers made their deal. No wonder he was so scared. 

“Michelangelo,” he said hoarsely. Don’s eyes burned with tears at the same time Leo’s face twisted in horror, and with a sharp curl of fox tail and smoke, the  _kitsune_ seized his name and they vanished.


	14. Severe Reaction (Mikey & Don)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From what I understand, anaphylaxis is what happens when your body becomes hypersensitive to an allergen; but I don’t think WebMD accounts for mutant turtles that spent fifteen years isolated from all food and most insects. So yeah, just take this with a grain of salt I guess. 
> 
> Also, turtles can have allergies. Thanks, Google.

Don knows everything there is to know about anaphylaxis. He knows the dangers, knows the warning signs, knows the triggers; most commonly, nuts, shellfish, wheat, dairy, and insect stings. Don knows that a severe allergic reaction is potentially deadly, knows that immediate treatment is  _critical,_ and he knows that said treatment is an injection of epinephrine, which counter-acts all the symptoms of anaphylactic shock within moments.

He knows all this  _now,_ because he doesn't ever want to feel as scared and helpless as he did earlier that night; never,  _ever_ again.

April's still guilt-stricken, but it wasn't her fault. She had no idea, none of them did. With their limited exposure to-  _everything,_ basically, up until the last year or so, there was no way of knowing Mikey would have such a severe reaction to the handful of chocolate-covered almonds she gave him. And it all happened so  _fast._ He was laughing along with Casey one minute, while April stifled giggles and Don rolled his eyes, and the next minute he was coughing.

Don swallows hard past the recent memory, and reaches for Mikey's hand the way he's done a dozen times over the past hour. His little brother is fast asleep in the infirmary bed next to him, his hand small and still under Don's.

Don knows everything there is to know about anaphylactic shock, because he spent a whole four hours on his laptop next to Mikey's cot, devouring as many of the upwards eight-hundred and fifty thousand search results that came up on Google as he could. He's practically an expert  _now_ , and he could write a white paper on the subject if he wanted to.

And he would start said white paper by explaining in detail how horrifying an allergic reaction is to watch, and how quickly and mercilessly it can potentially handicap even a young, able-bodied ninja warrior. And he would add, at some point after that, how  _helpless_ and  _stupid_ it feels to wrap your arms around your little brother while his throat closes up, and his skin breaks out- to finally figure out what it is that's happening, only to realize that you are a hundred and ten percent unprepared to help in  _any_ way.

They didn't have the medication. They didn't have the resources, they didn't have the  _access._ There were Benadryl tablets in the first aid kit, but Mikey couldn't breathe, let alone swallow- and they couldn't call 911 because they lived in the sewer, and they were mutants, and human doctors wouldn't be willing to help-

And he could have  _died_. Right there, in the warm safety of the lair and Don's lab, right in Don's arms, Mikey could have  _died_ because of a few pieces of  _candy_.

Could have, but didn't. Because in as much time as it took Casey to sprint to one side of the room and back again, the human wrecking ball was crashing to his knees at Mikey's side and uncapping an auto-injector with his teeth. It was the last thing Don expected in such a good way that part of him wondered if he was hallucinating the whole thing.

But no, Casey plunged the auto-injector into Mikey's thigh, and mere moments after that Mikey was gasping; arching up in great, gulping sobs for air, the most beautiful sound Don had ever heard in his life. He was shaking as he pulled Mikey closer, counting each heave of his brother's chest as a blessing, and April framed Mikey's freckled face in both hands and kissed him soundly on the forehead, desperate relief in every line of her body.

It happened so  _fast,_ Don just couldn't get his head around it.

"My kid sister's allergic to bees," Casey said some time later, rooting through the first aid kit for the Benadryl, as April went to get Splinter, and Don all but carried Mikey to the cot. Their little brother seemed as shaken by the whole thing as the rest of them were, canting a few silent, suspicious glances at the discarded bag of almonds on the floor. Casey came over with the medicine and his own bottled water in hand, solid and steadfast; like he was a tree in a windstorm, and the rest of them were just leaves. "Hasn't been a problem in a while, but I got used to keeping an EpiPen on me, just in case."

Sensei and their brothers made it to the room just before the Benadryl, combined with what looked like loose-limbed exhaustion, knocked Mikey out. Secondhand, the events couldn't have been as fundamentally terrifying, but what April told them seemed to have made an impression. Splinter barely had time to step back before Leo and Raph were crowding the bedside in his wake- and Mikey's laugh sounded like it came out through a cheese grater, but it still managed, somehow, to make his family smile.

Don knows, watching him sleep in the dim, three a.m. light of the lab, that Mikey will be back to normal by morning. He does that- bounces back like that- because as much as he loves attention, he hates letting his family worry. He'll be fine. But that doesn't stop Don from leaning over him, and pressing their foreheads together with all the weight of a heartfelt promise. Next time, he'll be ready.

Because Don, newly, knows everything there is to know about anaphylaxis. He knows the dangers, knows the warning signs, knows the triggers; most commonly, nuts, shellfish, wheat, dairy, and insect stings. Don knows that a severe allergic reaction is potentially deadly, knows that immediate treatment is  _critical,_ and he knows that said treatment is an injection of epinephrine, which counter-acts all the symptoms of anaphylactic shock within moments.

He knows he’s going to ban tree nuts from the lair for the rest of their lives. And peanuts, too, for that matter; until he can test his family for allergies, until he knows for sure what will and won’t hurt them. He knows his brothers won’t fight him on it, even if Mikey will bemoan the lack of peanut butter in their kitchen for weeks.

And Don also knows that when Casey promised to bring back "enough" EpiPens to ease the family's worry ( _"but they're expensive- " "don't worry about it"_ ), Don should never have expected anything less than a whole pharmacy bag full.


	15. Strays (Mikey & Raph)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> moogsthewriter requested something fluffy; "Like literally fluffy - Mikey getting mobbed by a bunch of puppies or kittens that are living in an alleyway!" Takes place in season four of the 2k3 cartoon, sometime before Leo went to Japan.

Peals of delighted laughter echo without restraint through the alleyway, and Raph can feel it when his face goes soft. His shellcell vibrates—Donny again, they're supposed to be home by now—and he draws it from his belt to thumb back a quick text in response. That done, Raph moves a few steps forward and kneels next to his baby brother.

Things are rough at home, lately. Leo's cold and distant, now, a wounded soldier, a stranger in all that studied rage—he's still there, but he's not really, and missing him from right next him is frustrating and futile and sad. And it's taking its toll on the whole family, but Raph knows from the pit in his chest that Mikey hasn't laughed like this in a long time.

And all it took was finding a few puppies in a cardboard box. He reaches out to ruffle one of the runts behind the ear, and decides to keep that in mind.

"Don called again," he's compelled to say, juggling the image of Mikey's unbridled joy with one of Don, worrying for them all alone, in the quiet expanse of his lab. Leo hasn't called yet, so the brainiac is covering for them. Raph reaches over to give the tails of Mikey's mask a tug. "We gotta get goin'."

The laughter fades, but Mikey's smile is solid; and something fierce and tender opens like a door in Raph's heart when Mikey turns those round eyes up to his. His little brother's smile is wheedling, his expression borderline coy—Raph knows  _exactly_ what's coming.

"There's no way Splinter'll let you keep those dogs," he says, warning, but his tone is gruff instead of stern, and he knows Mikey knows the difference. "You got a cat."

"He wouldn't mind if it's just for a few nights," Mikey counters, and breaks off with a helpless giggle when one of the puppies in his arms manages to squirm up and lick him on the chin. "Just till I can find homes for them—and April and Casey will help me, it won't take that long—"

It's not Raph's job to be the big brother that tells Mikey "no," and it's not Donny's job, either. That's all Leo. And its why Raph hesitates, because Leo is unfamiliar to them now, and Raph knows bringing home strays isn't going to end in a resigned sigh and an indulgent smile, this time—it's probably going to end in something sharp and ugly and mean, instead, and it'll hurt Mikey in a way that Leo won't be able to make better when he's Leo again.

So Raph rubs a hand over Mikey's head and says, "Sorry, buddy. Not this time."

And he's looking out for his brothers, here, he knows he is. But it still feels like his fault when Mikey's smile disappears.


	16. Good Genes (Mikey & Don)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sort of alludes to the 2k3 episode of the same name.

Don knew it was a nightmare. From the moment his eyes shot open in the cool dark of the lab, heart racing, Don  _knew_ there was nothing to fear. And he didn't get up to check on Mikey, because that would be stupid. It was just a bad dream.

But it lingered.

And every time Mikey tilted a wide grin at him, or leaned against his arm to see what he was building, or shot by with a whoop of wild laughter as Raph charged after him like an enraged bull, Don's breath caught in his throat.

When he breaks, it's without warning. Three days later, and Mikey spinning in lazy circles in his office chair, and Don dropped his screwdriver and threw off his goggles, and crossed the room to him in five strides. Mikey's eyes were wide as Don loomed over him, but not fearful, and it was all the difference in the world.

He dreamed of hurting his little brother, of beating him until he bled. Some strange mutation from a bite in his leg, hulking him up into something huge and terrifying, and Mikey reached out to him, tried to help him, and Donny-

It was just a bad dream, just a nightmare. Just his subconscious trying to work through his substantial number of issues, that was all. He would never, never, _never never never-_

Mikey's hands were warm on his arms, and he leaned into Don's desperate embrace with a soft hum. "You're freaking out about something, huh, bro? You've been all weird for a few days now. I thought you were mad at me."

Don pulled back enough to look at him, tilting Mikey's face up with both hands. Every scar and freckle was as familiar to him as all the work-worn tools in his lab; and right then, in the warmth and security of their home, Don thought it would be easier to break every single bone in his own body than it would be to hurt his brother.

"I wasn't mad. And if I was, you know I'd never hurt you. You know that, right?"

"Of course I do." Mikey's smile dimmed, and worry Don hadn't noticed deepened the bright blue of his eyes. "Did you have a bad dream? Aw, come on, Leo made us promise to talk to each other about those."

Just a bad dream. Just his subconscious. He needed to research dream diagnosis, he needed to help himself understand. "I must be some kind of monster," he whispered, and Mikey gave his plastron a hard thump.

"Woah, pump the brakes, Dee. You're jumping to conclusions," he said, arching an eyeridge. "And what do you always tell  _me_  about jumping to conclusions?"

Don's face broke into the barest hint of a smile. His grip on Mikey softened. "I tell you 'you're smarter than that.'"

"Exactly! So knock it off, dude. It was just a dream. You're not a monster, you're  _good_. You're every good thing I can think of." Mikey cupped Don's face in both hands, a mimicry of the same gesture Don had made, so sincere; and Don blinked through blurring tears when his baby brother sweetly reasoned, "You're my Donny. So talk to me, and we'll figure this thing out."

Sometime later, sitting in the pit with Mikey warm against his side- feeling safe in his skin for the first time in days- Don thought to ask, a little playfully, "How did you get so smart, anyway?"

And Mikey grinned. "Duh, I hang out with  _you_  all the time."


	17. Blindside (Raph & Alopex - Problem Child AU)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I get lots of requests for "Problem Child" from Mikey's brothers POV, and an anon on tumblr specifically requested "Raph's POV in Chapter 23...when he sees Mikey cry." So, here it is!

"Shit," he muttered under his breath, fists clenched so hard it hurt. "Shit.  _Shit_."

He made the kid  _cry_. That wasn't- no, Raph's job was to make sure that  _didn't_ happen, his job was to beat up the ones who'd do that, not-

Swearing under his breath, he aimed a vicious kick at his work table. The wheels on one side stuck so it didn't do more than scoot a few inches, a handful of scattered tools rattling in place. Totally unsatisfying. The paper bag of muffins fell over, and Raph noticed  _"for the best bro_ _ever_ _"_  written in glittery pen on the front, next to a crooked smiley face.

Yeah. Okay. He was ninety-nine percent sure the universe was pointing a finger at him and  _laughing_.

"Raph?"

That was Al, and she sounded uncharacteristically apologetic. Great, she probably thought he was pissed at her. Sure enough, he turned around to find her standing somewhat meekly by the Nissan like she half-expected Raph to rip her a new one, looking up at him through her fringe. Which was impressive in and of itself, since she had a solid four inches on him.

"Hey- look, I'm really sorry, I didn't know- "

"I know you didn't know," he said shortly, rubbing a dirty hand through his short hair. He glanced back over his shoulder at the door his little brother had disappeared through, half-hoping to find the kid lurking there, or at least peeking in with those ridiculous blue eyes, but no such luck. Shit. "It ain't you, I'm the one that screwed up."

Alopex leaned against the car, watching him with bright eyes that always sort of reminded Raph of a cat's. Maybe it was the way her glasses caught the light and reflected it, hell if he knew.

"Still, I'm sorry," she said, more confidently now that she knew Raph had a lid on his temper. "The third thing Ruth taught me when I got hired on here was to never get in the middle of Hamato family business."

That drew him up short. He looked at her. "You're jokin'."

"I wish. It was the same day Leonardo showed up and put the fear of God in Frank, remember that?"

Raph snorted, giving into a kind of momentary, helpless amusement. Hell yeah, he remembered. Frank, that sorry asshole. Six feet tall and three hundred pounds and perpetually hungover. Gave Raph a black eye for  _daring_ prove him wrong about an old Ford's alternator- an  _alternator_ , damn- and Raph had had to take that black eye home, and Leo… well, Leo did what Leo did best.

"I told him to leave it alone, but he don't listen."

Not that Raph blamed him, not really. At the time his pride was hurt, and it made him an angry, ungrateful thing; but a small, secret part of him had been- and still was- warmed by it. By Leo, storming unflinchingly to Raph's defense, bursting into the garage through the employee door like no one ever taught him that was rude, and calling out Frank- giant, auto mechanic Frank- in a voice that didn't tremble.

Fearless Leo. Raph's big brother. The only example in the world Raph had to follow, and he  _still_ messed up. Made Mikey  _cry_.

"He was just doing his job," Al said, like a mind-reader. Yeah, that didn't exactly make Raph feel any better.  _Shit_ , Leo was gonna  _kill_ him. If there was anything left after Donnie got done with him. He dropped his face into his hand and bit back what might have been a groan or a growl or something more wounded than both. "Raph?"

"I'm fine. It's just." He lifted his head a little to look at her, and her familiar face- long nose, scarred chin, retro glasses, all framed by that crazy cloud of fluffy white hair, and felt a warm surge of the same thing Casey and April made him feel. Raph  _knew_ her, in a way he didn't really know anybody outside his family. And he really didn't have anyone else to talk to about it that he hadn't already talked to. So he took a breath, and another glance at the back door, and said, "It's Mikey."

For just a moment, she looked stunned. Raph didn't exactly share stuff like this with the class, like ever. But she recovered in record time, expression smoothing out so quickly Raph would have to find time to be impressed by it later.

"He didn't look very good when he came in. Is he sick?"

"No, that's not… I mean, yeah. But…"

But it was so much  _bigger_ than that. How was Raph supposed to summarize the last couple weeks, and Mikey's dark eyes and pale face and the new way his hands trembled all the time? The kid was so  _visibly_ not okay, and the counselor, and Mikey's Psych teacher, and his coach had all called, asking Leo or Don or whoever picked up the phone what was wrong with him and they  _didn't fucking know_ , and Leo was staring to lose too much sleep over it, too.

"It's just 'cause he ain't been eating or sleeping lately, you know?"

Don said it could be anxiety- could be warning signs of  _depression_ \- and the thought of it made Raph sick, honestly. He didn't know what to do about something like that, he didn't know how to help if it was that.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Scott coming towards them with a shitty expression on his face, probably to tell them to get their asses to work. Al saw him, too, and turned sharply, gesturing at him rudely with her hand. The look on her face must have been one for the books, because Scott walked away without a damn word.

Then Al was facing Raph, all gentle again like that hadn't even happened. "Have you asked him about it?"

"Sorta? Leo says not to push him, 'cause if we back him into a corner it'll just get ugly." Which made perfect sense, 'cause they were all alike in that regard, even April and Casey.  _Hated_ not having a choice to make, got pissy when they deserved a say in stuff and didn't get one. "So we've been- just sorta- lettin' him know we're here for him, or whatever. Tryin' to get him to open up on his own, I guess, remindin' him he can always come to us about stuff."

She nodded, worry wrinkling her forehead in a delicate way. She liked Mikey, Raph knew that. Mikey always said hi to her and asked her about her cats at home (and remembered the furballs' names, even, what a dork) and Raph knew that Al- just like countless other people across the greater part of Queens- had sort of adopted the freckled menace as an honorary little brother.

"I take it he hasn't yet."

"Nope. And- I just ruined everything, just now, I- " Made Mikey  _cry_ , looking at Raph with those damn wide, wet blue eyes, and Raph wasn't sure he'd seen him cry since the night they missed their dad's funeral, unless he counted that night in the park, and Mikey's panic attack. But that was sort of the beginning of all of this, wasn't it? And now Raph  _hurt_ the kid, the way big brothers weren't ever supposed to, and something sharp and heated was folding his heart into a tight knot, pricking like needles in the space behind his eyes. Dammit.  _Dammit_.

"I need to call home," he muttered, and moved toward the office. Ruth was something like a gruff, oil-stained mother and she had this weird way of reading Raph's moods like a book. She'd probably take one look at him and point him to the phone on the desk without a word. "Gonna get my ass kicked tonight, that's for damn sure, Donnie's gonna be pissed. And Mikey probably hates me. And Leo- "

A hand caught his arm, tugging him to a stop. He had to look up at her when she came to stand beside his shoulder, opening his mouth to snap something probably mean at her (he got testy after a sharing-and-caring session, always had, couldn't help it) but he ended up not saying anything at all. He ended up just sorta freezing there, with his mouth hanging partly open like a dumbass, because Al leaned in to plant a cool kiss against his cheek, and her fingers slipped down his arm to squeeze his hand.

"It'll be okay," she said, in that easy, overly-simple manner of someone who believed in someone else too much. "You'll figure it out."

Rich started wolf-whistling from a few docks down, and Al rolled her eyes and dropped his hand and stepped away. And Raph had an image to keep up, god dammit, so he squared his shoulders and marched to the office and didn't lift his head or meet anyone's eyes- or look at Al, even a little bit- once on the way there.

The soft press of her lips stayed on his face, though. Even after she was gone.

He resolutely  _didn't_ touch his cheek, and picked the phone up off its cradle instead. Somehow feeling braver than he did a few minutes ago, as he dialed Donnie's number.


	18. Something Shared (Wishes AU)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An anon messaged me on tumblr regarding my If Wishes Were Fishes AU, asking, "Since Don, Raph, and Leo could feel when Mikey was in pain throughout their childhood, did Mikey feel their [pain] as well?" And then, if so, anon requested a fic of a time he felt their pain before he met them. So here we are!

The first call Yoshi received that day was from his children's school, and with a few simple words he was rushing into the car and across town, just as quickly as the law would allow.

_"Your boys are here in the office, and they're very distressed,"_  the counselor had told him, sounding distressed herself.  _"I can't talk to them like this, they only want to talk to you."_

He burst into the school with an accidental slam of the rotunda door, and all but ran the length of the hall to the office, ignoring the scandalized look he recieved from a passing teacher. Yoshi was besieged by Leonardo and Donatello before he could take more than a single step inside, and when he heard the unfortunately familiar sound of Donatello's silent weeping, he knelt, and took them both in his arms.

They were both shaking, and the secretary and counselor were very near sympathetic tears. Yoshi himself was reeling with concern, and glanced around involuntarily for his third child. While Donatello did his best to mold into Yoshi's shoulder, Yoshi coaxed his eldest son's face up, so he could clearly see the child's blue eyes through that fringe of dark hair.

"Leonardo, what is it?" he asked, gently, despite his mounting dread. "And where is Raphael?"

But he wouldn't receive any answers from his boys, as shaken and upset as they were. The answer came, instead, in the form of a second phone call. Extracting the cell from his pocket and juggling it to his ear was a feat, but he managed it without letting his children go.

"I apologize, but now isn't the best- "

 _"Yoshi Hamato?"_  the male voice was unfamiliar, though clipped and urgent, and Yoshi had no time to confirm his name before man continued,  _"This is Doctor Sloane, calling from the CentraState Medical Center on West Main. Your son is in the emergency room."_

And cold fear touched Yoshi's heart.

* * *

Yoshi's hand tightened around the cordless phone almost on its own. He glanced involuntarily through the doorway, at the warm pile of his children in the living room- at Michelangelo, sandwiched snugly between his brothers- and then back at the email that was carving a new hole into his heart.

"Chronic pain?"

 _"Yes,"_ Mrs. O'Neil said, sounding harried over the phone.  _"I can't believe I forgot to tell you, this is sort of slip-up is the worst kind of unprofessional."_

"You've always done the best for him you could," Yoshi said, the barest edge of reproach in his tone, "and Michelangelo's case was not exactly cut and dry."

_"Still. It's something I should have gone over with you when we reviewed his medical history. He had a prescription pain reliever several years ago, but medication never seemed to do anything for him, so we didn't bother with a refill. If it flares up at any point- and you'll have to keep a sharp eye on him, because that boy will keep it to himself- then give him over-the-counter acetaminophen."_

Yoshi made note of that, on a sheet of paper he planned to add to Mikey's file, where it sat in one of his desk drawers."And this pain is- "

 _"Mike was a very, very sick baby, Yoshi,"_ Renee told him, her voice somewhat gentled, with fondness or understanding or some combination of the two.  _"He's grown up into a healthy, active young man, and I couldn't be more glad and relieved that he has, but most of his early childhood was a series of doctor visits and hospital stays. He had a nebulizer up until he was about ten years old. I think that these pains are just his body's way of reminding him what he went through."_

* * *

"It hurt so bad, I thought I was dying," Leonardo said, his voice a tiny, grave thing in the still silence of the hospital room. Donatello had climbed into the bed when Raphael was still awake, and now the both of them were sleeping deeply. Leonardo sat at Yoshi's side, watching over his brothers with dark eyes.

The pain in his young face was raw and tender. Yoshi wasn't sure Leonardo had slept at all within the past two days.

"It's over now, my son," Yoshi said, and put an arm around his shoulders; drawing him over to Yoshi's side of the cushioned bench they shared. None of Yoshi's children were particularly demonstrative on any given day, but in this case, Leonardo scooted closer and tucked himself into his father's embrace agreeably, turning his face into Yoshi's shoulder; almost as though he was taking shelter there, from some terrible storm he couldn't see or understand. "Try to rest. The doctor has assured us your brother will be fine, and we'll all go home tomorrow, together."

Leonardo nodded, and the next several minutes slipped by without speaking, long enough for Yoshi to assume Leonardo had fallen asleep. And then,

"It really hurt, though. We were really scared."

Heart aching for all three of them, Yoshi pressed a kiss into his eldest child's hair.

"I am sorry, Leonardo. I'm so sorry you suffered. And I'm so thankful that you three have one another, so that you never need suffer alone."

* * *

"That just seems like something you should have told us about, Mikey," Donatello said, giving Michelangelo a pointed look. Michelangelo, for his part, rolled his eyes.

They were at a diner downtown- not one Yoshi had ever been to before, but one his boys had picked due to its flickering neon sign and the handwritten note in the window boasting half-off pie with any meal. Michelangelo was playing tic-tac-toe with Raphael, on the backs of their paper menus, and glanced up at Donatello's mild rebuke with an incredulous look on his freckled face.

"Are you still mad at me about that? Come on, D. It's somethin' that just sorta comes and goes, it usually doesn't even really hurt."

"What does it feel like?" Leonardo asked, turning slightly to smile his thanks at the waitress when she brought him a new Coke. Michelangelo tapped his yellow crayon, looking thoughtful.

"Umm… usually, it just sorta feels like… Like, when Klunkers lays on your chest, how she's kinda heavy? Usually it just feels like that, like something kinda heavy sitting right over my heart."

Yoshi watched something flicker in the three older faces. Watched Raphael's hand, drawing idle patterns in red to one side of their game, fall still.

"Sometimes it's really heavy, and sometimes it's barely anything. I dunno, it doesn't make sense. I usually just ignore it. Oh, this one time, though- this one time it was really bad. I was at school, and all of a sudden I just- " Michelangelo pantomimed a dramatic fainting, falling against Raphael's shoulder. His brothers didn't laugh, staring at him with a focus that made Yoshi uneasy. "That was the only time it really scared me."

"Was it a few years ago?" Donatello asked slowly. "The year before you came to us, before you turned fourteen?"

"Uh…yeah, D. Man, your genius scares me sometimes," Michelangelo said with a hesitant smile. "Yeah, it was around then, I think. I ended up in the hospital for a few days. It hurt so bad, I thought I was gonna  _die_ ," he added, picking his crayon up again. "And being in the hospital all by myself was the worst. But that was the only time it ever got so bad. There's nothing to really  _do_ about chronic pain, that's what Mrs. O'Neil said, and I kinda just got used to it growing up." He flicked a quick glance at his brothers through his fringe, then one at Yoshi; seemed to weigh his next words on his tongue before he added, "When it doesn't hurt, it's actually kinda nice. It kinda feels like a hug, or something. Does that make sense?"

Donatello got up abruptly, moving around the table to squeeze into Michelangelo and Raphael's side of the booth; Raphael put an arm around them both, staring hard at the laminate table top, and Leonardo reached across the table for his baby brother's hands.

"It makes sense," Leonardo said, looking young; with that raw and tender something resurfacing in his ocean eyes. "But the next time it hurts, come tell one of us, okay? We know a trick that makes it all better."

* * *

He was alone in the hospital room. His foster mom left a few hours ago. Mike carefully tugged a needle out of his arm, wincing at the pull of the medical tape on his skin, and climbed out of bed. Pushing aside the separator curtains, and moving around the empty bed on the other side, Mike climbed carefully up into the nook by the window.

The city looked pretty in the snow, still and quiet, and the glass pane under Mike's forehead was cool. He pressed the heel of his hand against his chest, against the pressure there that was trying to crush him. Usually a comfortable weight, like a heavy arm draped across his chest, or a hug, the pain had turned into something awful, something with teeth, and every breath Mike took felt like an exercise in broken glass.

"It's too heavy," he whispered, blinking through the scared tears that tried to blind him as his breath fogged the window like a cloud. "I don't want it anymore. It hurts, it's too heavy."

But his hospital room was empty, and the city was quiet under a thick blanket of snow. Mike drew his sweatshirt tighter around himself and closed his eyes.

Sometimes it felt like the rest of the world had abandoned him, too.


	19. Other Brothers (Mikey & Raph - Coraline crossover)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Someone on tumblr requested a TMNT/Coraline AU.  
>   
> As a sidenote, I haven't forgotten _anyone's_ requests, they're all safe and sound in a folder on my desktop-I'm really sorry to keep some of you waiting as long as I have, and especially sorry to those of you following _Problem Child_ or _Sons of Winter_. My personal life is kind of up in the air right now, and it's been really hard to sit down and work on the stuff that I love; so I've been trying out some challenging writing memes on tumblr, and trying to get more sleep. Hopefully, things level out again soon and I can go back to semi-regular updates. Until then, thank you guys _so_ much for your patience, I can't tell you how much it means to me that you've stuck around this long. (:  
>   
> Happy halloween!

"Mikey, look here," Raph says, on his knees in the turned dirt of Donatello's new garden, staining the clean khaki of his new pants; probably, in part, to get Leo back for not buying him the blue jeans he wanted at the store, but mostly to reach for the bright bundle tucked under the hydrangeas, "it looks like you."

He hands it over, and it's a little doll, and it  _does_  look like Mikey, a little– curly hair, almond shaped eyes, a red and orange checkered hoodie– but it could have been Raph, too, and Mikey tells him as much; they're twins, after all, and they share everything down to the last freckle.

Raph thinks the doll is creepy, and he doesn't want it in their bedroom, but he lets Mikey prop it up on the nightstand anyway. He lets Mikey get away with almost everything, but when the Them-Doll leads Mikey to a secret, magic tunnel behind the flower bushes, Raph doesn't let him go through, grabbing his arm before he can so much as take a step.

"Mikey!"

"Come on, Raphie, it's  _magic_ , and it opened right up just for us! It's just like the wardrobe in the Chronicles of Narnia– or the rabbit hole in Alice in Wonderland," Mikey insists, giving his brother's arm a tug. "Don't you wanna at least see?"

An orange tabby cat, perched on the wheezing porch railing, meows low in warning, but Raph is eyeing the tunnel mouth with new, grudging interest.

"You know, there was an evil Witch on the other side of that wardrobe," he finally says, giving Mikey a sidelong look. "And an evil Queen in Wonderland."

"Aw, don't be scared, bro," Mikey says, with a nudge and a grin. "If anyone wants to turn you to stone, or take off your head, they've gotta go through  _me_ first."

Raph rolls his eyes so hard it telegraphs through his whole body, but he's biting on the edges of a smile, too. And when he snatches the doll away, it's only to replace it with his hand in Mikey's, and then he leads the way into a glowing dark.

Mikey's glad he came, because Mikey wouldn't have gone without him. They share everything, every adventure and every secret—and it's no secret that they're sad in this new, old, drafty house. (Leo promised there were no ghosts, but he's never around, and neither is Don, so how would  _they_ know?) Raph and Mikey didn't want to move away from their old neighborhood and their old friends, and the house they lived in with their dad; and it's hard being the baby brothers, and  _lonely,_ when their big brothers don't have any time for them anymore.

But the magic tunnel in the garden changes  _everything._

It takes them to a world where everything is the same and everything is different—where the orange tabby can talk, and the Jones boy from down the road is friendly and quiet; where Donnie still makes dinosaur-shaped pancakes in the morning, and Leo isn't already gone to work by the time they wake up.

Their Other Brothers have all the time for them in the world, and at the end of the day, Mikey isn't sure he wants to leave.

"You can stay," Other Donnie says, gentle and warm the way he used to be, and he smiles as he sets out a needle and thread. "There's just  _one_  little thing you need to do first."


	20. Sunny Go (One Piece crossover)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For someone on tumblr, who requested a TMNT/One Piece crossover. I haven't written my pirate kids in a long time, so I hope it turned out alright!

"Are you  _really_ pirates?" the smallest of the  _kappa_ asks around a beaming smile, eyes wide behind a bright orange facemask– as though the ship and her Jolly Roger weren't evidence enough.

There are three other creatures like him standing at his back, and their fists are closed around weapons with an easy readiness that makes Zoro wary; but the orange-banded turtle's hands are empty, his face freckled and disarming and  _young_.

Sure enough, Zoro's captain returns the enthusiasm; surging forward an involuntary step with something like stars in his eyes, and bursting with, "Are you  _really_ ninjas?"

The bright  _kappa_ laughs in delight, and when he tugs the  _nunchaku_ out of his belt it's only to hand them right over. Nami is won by them already, as she always is by children, and shares a secret smile with Robin as the older three turtles seem to thaw one by one, lowering weapons and raising tentative introductions in their place.

Little Chopper has the whole world in his eyes, where he's hiding behind Luffy's leg– these are creatures like him, aren't they? Animals that walk and talk like men do– and Zoro finds himself warming to the red-banded turtle, who sheaths his  _sai_ and kneels, offering Chopper empty, harmless hands. The  _kappa_ 's crooked grin softens all the sharp edges of his face, and it isn't long before Chopper finds the courage to meet him.

"–no  _idea_ how we got here," the tallest of the four is saying _,_ already having gravitated toward Usopp, Franky and Nami. "We must have opened the wrong portal in Dimension X. We were trying to get home. _"_  His brown eyes are bright and intelligent in much the same way the sniper, shipwright and cartographer's are, as well; and by the end of the night, if the  _kappa_ stay that long, the four of them will probably be sharing maps and gadgets and books across the dinner table.

The idiot love cook comes out about that time, wheeling a cart of drinks and snacks– once the turtle creatures aren't an immediate threat, they become guests in Sanji's eyes. Luffy is quick to offer a tankard to his new freckled friend, and Robin, amused by the alarm in their boyish faces, assures his brothers that it's a sweet,  _non-alcoholic_ juice that their chef makes from a medley of tropical fruits.

"It's  _good,"_ the orange turtle exclaims, and that's all it takes for his brothers each to pick up a cup, and for Sanji to smile.

The sky and the sea are both a cloudless, endless blue, and Sunny rocks gently on the calm waters. Luffy has traded his precious strawhat for Michelangelo's orange mask, and the two of them have traipsed up and down the length of the ship half a dozen times; at this point, they're sprawled in a pile with Usopp, Chopper, and the turtle named Raphael, all of them breathless with laughter at the song Brook is singing on his guitar.

Zoro has had half a bottle of  _sake_ , and the sunlight is dragging warm, drugging fingers through the end of the afternoon. It's enough– when coupled by the warmth of the alcohol, and the warmth of his  _nakama_ 's joy– to send Zoro's thoughts toward sleep.

He's only dozing when he senses someone approach his spot by the ship's rails– he knows it's one of the strangers, since he's as familiar with his crewmates' auras as he is with his own– and when the  _kappa_ doesn't speak up right away, Zoro cracks his eye open.

It's the blue-banded turtle, Leonardo; the oldest of the four and their leader, attentive and watchful, and with twin  _katana_ strapped to shell. He was the last of Sunny's guests to let his guard down; but Zoro has watched him soften all throughout the day, as the pirates proved their hospitality to be sincere, as his little brothers laughed and played.

Now Leonardo is watching Zoro with something like awe in the corners of his almond-shaped eyes. He fidgets for a moment, like he might not say anything after all; and from one swordsman to another, Zoro extends the courtesy of patient silence.

Finally, the boy blurts, "You use  _three?"_

And Zoro grins.


	21. Gemini Terminal (Mikey & Raph - "Riddle of the Ancient Aeons" episode tag)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Episode tag to "Riddle of the Ancient Aeons"; Mikey isn't the one who needs comforting after his last near-death experience—but what else is new?
> 
> This oneshot is named after the Gemini twins Pollux and Castor, because theirs is one of my favorite stories in the entirety of Greek mythology, and because it isn't hard for me to see Raph and Mikey in them if I try. (My title makes sense, shh.)

It's whole days later that Mikey's door slides open, and closer to morning than midnight, but a tiny intuitive part of his brain must have been ready for it, because he's already blinking himself awake. Bright light spills into his tight quarters for a few seconds before it's gone again, and someone makes their way to the side of his bed on silent feet.

He rubs his eyes and tries not to yawn, shifting under his heavy blanket and scooting over until his shell is pressed against the wall. The cot sinks as a new weight settles in the space he made, and cool air slips beneath the comforter as it's lifted and resettled; Mikey opens his mouth to complain—he'd been so _cozy—_ but a warm arm makes up for it a second later, wrapping around his shoulders and pulling him forward a few inches, until he's snug against a plastron, and tucked firmly under a chin.

Well, _this_ is much better. It's familiar,and reminds him of homein a way not a lot of things do anymore, and he smiles a little bit in the dark. He squirms, fixing the position of a leg and his head on the pillow, then sighs in content.

He isn't really expecting words to fill the comfortable silence, because sometimes they don't, but all the same, he isn't unprepared for it when a rough voice mutters, "I hate space."

"Nah, space is _cool_ ," Mikey says without missing a beat, because it is. His eyes are closed again, too heavy to keep open, and his voice drifts all sleeplike; but he and his brother are so close there's no way his words get lost. "We've done a boatload of cool stuff. You've had fun, too."

"I _hate_ space," more vehemently, and the arms around Mikey tighten. "It's _stupid_ , and full of nothin' but a hundred more ways for me to hurt you."

" _And_ more ways for you to save me," Mikey points out reasonably. "You've never rescued me from a booby trap in an ancient alien temple before. That'll look good on your resume."

"Shut up," but there's no bite to it. It wavers a bit, instead, and somehow he clings even tighter. "I really could have—what if there was no oxygen back there, Mikey, what if—"

And, yeah—yeah that _had_ been a little scary. The helmet shattering, a few tiny, stray shards nicking his face, Raph's eyes too green and horrified and his hands hovering without touching—and Mikey's seen enough sci-fi movies with Donnie to know what happens when a human (or close enough) is exposed in the vacuum of space, and it was always a little funny in the cheesy, low-budget flicks they'd find in the trash or stream online, where the lost space hero's head would _pop_ like a jelly-filled balloon—but in that moment, when the cool air hit Mikey's face and he didn't know it was air at all, when he was certain because _Donnie_ was certain that they needed those helmets to breathe—

Well, then it wasn't funny at all. Not even a _little._

But it worked out—Mikey is starting to think it always will, just because it always has. And if there's one thing he knows, after everything he's seen and everything he's done and everything he's _survived_ up to this point, it's that Raphael would never, ever hurt him and _mean_ it.

"You're gonna drive yourself crazy, bro," Mikey says, poking his brother in the soft cartilage of his side. "Don't do the "what if" thing—we've all had like, _way_ too many close calls for that to be a fun game. You didn't do anything wrong, Raphie, the planet was making everybody crazy. You didn't hurt me."

Mikey wishes he could take his brother's bad dreams away. He'd even totally be willing to have the nightmares himself, if it would give Raph a good night's sleep for a change. _Mikey_ isn't above crawling into bed with Leo, after all, so it only makes sense, right?

Maybe there's a way he could do that. He'd have to ask the Professor, there must be _something_ in the knowable universe that would make Raph feel better, and if anyone would know of it, Fugitoid would.

"Not _this_ time," Raph says quietly, stubbornly, and Mikey makes a face at him that he can't see. "But I have before, and—I probably will again, because I'm—I'm an _animal_ , I'm the _worst_ , and I'll hurt you again and it'll—it'll _keep_ one of these days, it won't go away and you'll _die_ or _hate_ me or, or be _scared—_ and nothing I could ever do would ever make it _better_ —"

Mikey hugged him the night they lost their father to the Shredder, deep in a cold, dark sewer—and Leo hugged him back on the Aeons' planet, when he told Raph "I love you" despite an ancient curse and an ugly rage that twisted affection into anger—and Mikey winds both arms around him now.

"You're my brother," he says firmly, making every single word crucial and important on its own. "And you're my friend. And you care about me so much you don't know what to do with all of it. And that's why you worry, and yell when I'm clumsy, and drag around the first-aid kit like you're trying to put Donnie out of a job. And even though we've been together our whole lives, ever since we were babies, you _still_ don't know that _I_ know everything there is to know about you!" Mikey squeezes him as tight as he can. "Raphie, you dork. I _know_ you love me, and I know you're scared. And I know you know I could never hate you, even if I tried really, really hard! So you're worried about something that's kinda stupid, but it's okay—I'm right here, and I'll always be right here, because that's where _you've_ always been."

Raph sobs, a choked, barely-there sound, one that Mikey probably wouldn't recognize if he was anyone else, and this newest nightmare _really_ must have shaken him up, really must have messed with his head, because he actually clings a little tighter, actually says, "You _swear_?"

Mikey blinks through his surprise, curls his fingers around the edges of Raph's shell, and tells him with absolute sincerity, "Dude—I _so_ swear. But only now and then, when Leo's not around."

Normally, that would have coaxed out a reluctant smile, or a half-hearted snort of laughter, or sometimes just a groan. Tonight it doesn't do much, and Raph's trembling a little, so Mikey moves in the circle of Raph's arms, up and up until he can mush their faces together—and Raph may have the dark to hide his tears in but Mikey can feel them on his own cheeks now, wet and sticky and warm, and it sort of a little bit breaks his heart.

So he says, very very seriously and from only a few scant inches away,

"Really, Raph. I swear."


	22. Incompetent (Leo - Problem Child AU)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I had a few anons on tumblr request something from Leo's POV, but one of them specified they wanted Leo's POV of chapter 7 of Problem Child.
> 
>  
> 
> _"For as long as Mikey could remember, Leo was always really brave._
> 
>  
> 
> _When they were younger and they never seemed to stay in the same place for more than a day or two- when they spent a lot of time after school on doorsteps and behind vacant buildings around Chinatown- Leo was the oldest, and Leo was responsible for them, and Leo was brave. He was brave when the man who would become their father first approached them on a cold afternoon with warm food and warm coats and a kind offer. And he was brave when their father got sick six years later and passed away._
> 
>  
> 
>  _He put his sorrow on a shelf, got a job, and took care of his family the way he always had, because he was the bravest ever."_  
>  \- "The Bradford Dilemma - Part 4"

Leo's bad at this. Some days are better than others, and his brothers are worth the whole world and more, but Leo's _bad_ at this. It's so hard to be a parent when he's nothing but an orphan himself- _twice_ the orphan now- and the evidence of his inadequacy is _everywhere_.

"I'm on my way to get you, so don't move," he snaps into the phone, brimming with something like fury, something that's curled cold fingers around his heart, something that makes his hands shake even as he hangs up with a vicious stab of the "end call" button.

Don and Raph both start a little at his tone, and Don's eyes are doing the wide, electric thing already, the thing that happens when he's scared and cottoned on to more than what Leo wanted him to know. They both heard overheard " _Dragons_ ," but Donnie is the one who pieced together what the word combined with Leo's sudden temper must mean for their wayward brother, and his hands are curling into the fabric of his jeans.

"He's fine," Leo manages, a little too curt considering how worried they've been, and snatches up his field jacket from where he'd draped it over the back of a chair. He only just got home, he's even still in his shoes, the keys are still in his pocket, so Raph's hand on his navy blue sleeve is the only thing stopping him from rushing right back outside.

"He's fine?" His eyes are too green, too much like an x-ray as he looks straight through Leo; and Leo's only older by a year. Leo isn't a parent, he _can't_ be, he's _no good_ at this. He's nothing but a bumbling older brother. Raph must find what he's looking for anyway, because he let's go a moment later, and Leo is free to leave.

His hands are white-knuckled on the steering wheel. He can't afford a ticket, he can't afford a fine, and that's the only reason he manages to keep under the speed limit most of the way to Murakami's.

This wasn't _like_ Mikey. Mikey has always been so well-behaved.

Raph, on the other hand…. Raph used to fight all the time. He was _hungry_ for it, it seemed like, and there was something vindictive in the way he used to come home all black and blue. He did it to hurt Leo, in a small, petty way- the only way a child _can_ hurt- up until he was about ten years old. Then one day Donnie _shoved_ him and his collection of new bruises the moment he walked through the door, shrieking a hysterical _"do you WANT them to take you away?"_ and the world stood absolutely still. Mikey was too young to fully understand, but his eyes were wide and fearful when he looked up at Leonardo in the tense silence that followed, and it was much easier to stoop and hold him than it was to meet Raph's eyes, or deny for Donnie's sake that there was any reason to fear-

Because there was. There _always_ was. Leo's been consistently and collectively terrified since he was seven years old, ever since the night the police came to their apartment building and the drunken neighbors lost their children. He had crawled into Mikey's crib and held him through all the shouting and stomping and the neighbor lady's tears, just held him and hushed him so he wouldn't cry, while Don and Raph watched with wide, grave eyes from their side of the small bedroom-

Leo was seven years old the day he realized he might lose them. He's been scared ever since.

And when he parks outside Murakami's small, well-kept restaurant, and pushes open the door, Mikey is-

fine.

He's talking to a large stranger Leo is certain he's never seen before, holding a wet, lumpy icepack to his swollen lip and laughing, petting a tiny orange cat and having what looks like a pretty good time. But those cold fingers still have Leo's heart hostage, and his voice _bites_ at Mikey in a way his baby brother is entirely unaccustomed to. And he already feels bad at the way the glee droops out of the bright boy's face, already hates himself for being the reason for it.

He asks Murakami what happened, and the man gives him a brief run-down of what he's gathered so far; the Dragons were hurting a stray cat, Michelangelo tried to put a stop to it, and his new friend pulled him out of danger. He hadn't gone looking for trouble, Murakami was quick to assure him. You know how fond he is of cats. The stranger offers to take care of the orange tabby, Mikey scribbles his number on a napkin and shoves it over with a wild, leaping grin despite Leo's bad attitude looming over them all- he's made a new friend out of all of this, and that's what he's going to take away from the whole mess. He won't learn anything from the bruises or broken skin.

He doesn't know that everything is on the line. Raphael and Donatello are old enough now that Leo doesn't stand any chance of losing them, but Mikey- Mikey is only fourteen. There are whole years left for Leo to prove he's incapable, for Leo to prove he isn't _enough_ for this huge job- and all it would take is Saki walking into their home tonight, taking one single look at Michelangelo.

All that man needs is _one_ reason, _one_ excuse, Leo's sure of it. Anyone who could break their father's heart as easily as he did would be _more_ than happy to rip apart Leo's. Why sensei gave him power of attorney- why sensei let him have anything to do with them at _all_ \- is something Leo isn't sure he'll ever understand.

He isn't good at this.

He stops Mikey by the car- wants to apologize, a little bit, or explain, maybe.

But Mikey takes one look at his face, and reaches up with both arms the same way he's done his whole life, and Leo doesn't say anything at all. He just folds around him and holds him as tight as he can, feeling all of seven years old again, and powerless, and _terrified_.


	23. Winter Storm (Problem Child AU)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An anon on tumblr requested the crew from my Problem Child 'verse getting through the blizzard currently sweeping through the East Coast. But this became something really fluffy and self-indulgent... Sorry about that.
> 
> And to everyone in the East Coast area, please stay safe and warm!

"Alright, Leo, I checked all the fire alarms," Raph says, coming down the hall with yet another blanket in hand, one he dumps on top of Mikey with a fond smile just for the sake of the sound of muffled laughter, "and all the taps are open so the pipes don't freeze. Anything else?"

Leo looks up with a smile from where he's sitting with Don, their emergency kit spread out across the kitchen table and a list in his hand. "I think that's it. Thanks, Raph."

"So most of your neighbors are elderly, right?" April was asking Leatherhead, perched on the arm of the couch. "Are they going to be okay?"

"Yes, I helped move all of them to the church just down the road," he replies, while Raph steps over his outstretched legs to join Casey by the window. "They have a food pantry there, and a furnished cellar, and their relatives all know where to find them. They offered to let me stay as well, but Michelangelo insisted I join you all here."

"The more the merrier!" April says with a wide, friendly smile. "My dad's out of state for a conference. He didn't make it home before they closed the roads, so he's staying with my aunt. These guys are family, though, and dad feels better knowing that I'm here."

"We're probably more well prepared than the rest of Queens combined," Casey says, "with our Fearless Leader and the Brainiac on the case. Get a load of those two."

"いちねんのけいはがんたんにあり," Don says without missing a beat, which was some old proverb about _being prepared_ that their father used to say all the time, and it makes Leo laugh in delighted surprise. Casey has no idea what it means, but he scowls anyway.

"It's really comin' down out there." Raph stoops a little to get a better view at the angry sky from their window. "Glad we're all here together, an' I don't have to worry about trackin' any of you down."

"Aww, Raph's getting sentimental," Mikey coos at Klunk, scratching her behind the ears. It earns him an affectionate meow, and he tucks her into a corner of the blanket he's sharing with LH. "Big softie."

"He's right, though. If the storm is bad enough, it could knock down the cell network." Donnie finally glances up from his flashlights and batteries, with soft eyes. "It makes it a lot easier, having all our family under one roof."

April smiles right back, just as sweet, but Casey ruins the moment with an, "Aw, jeez. C'mon, guys. Odds are we won't even lose power."

"But the forecast says we can expect to be snowed in for a few days," Leo replies in his leader-voice, standing up to join the party in the living room. "So everyone's phones and laptops are charged up, right?"

"Riiight."

"There's absolutely nothing you need from the cars?"

"Be too late now if we did," Raph muttered, eyeing the weather outside with decided dislike. "Good thing we stocked up on food before the snow hit. I'm not goin' out there again till Tuesday. _Maybe."_

Leo sits by Mikey on the floor, and Don turns off the big light in the kitchen before he follows. The living room is cast into a natural dark, the city lights outside barely making it through the howling winds and snow. It sounds really terrible out there, and sometimes the glass window panes rattle a little with the force of the storm, but not even Klunk is worried, and Mikey can't find it in himself to be, either.

Raph and Casey climb onto the couch, and April slides down into Don's lap once he's settled, stretching her legs out over Raph so her feet end up on Casey, and the four of them manage to share a blanket peacefully.

"Do you guys have a movie ready?" Leo asks, and Mikey nods. LH opens the laptop where _Homeward Bound_ is waiting and hits play. They all settle in, shifting and squirming until everyone can see the screen comfortably, and the storm outside is something faraway and muted and harmless.

"This better not be a sappy family movie," Raph warns in the moments before the title card hits the screen, and Mikey grins.


	24. Halfway Home (Mikey & Woody)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spoilers up to issue 54. Mikey’s POV.
> 
> I’m ‘pizza bros’ trash, and this is what I’ve wanted to happen from the very beginning of Mikey’s arc, I won’t lie.

When you hear your name called from behind you, you almost can’t believe it. You’re bundled up in hat and scarf and coat, with your shoulders bunched up by your cheeks because the winter wind in NYC is downright brutal, so you’re sure you blend into the similarly-dressed crowd perfectly.

And also, you’re a mutant whose very existence is a grave secret. You’re stunned and a little guarded as you turn around.

But your guard falls right away, because it’s Woody rushing to meet you across the sidewalk. He’s in loose sneakers and a hoodie and pajama pants, his curly hair tossed haphazardly, every inch a person who flew out the door at the last second.

You find yourself moving to meet him on autopilot. Talk about a sight for sore eyes.

“I _thought_ that was you,” he says breathlessly, “I’d recognize that hat anywhere.”

“Your apartment is like two blocks ago,” you reply slowly. And it’s cold, and it’s late, you can’t understand why he would rush after someone he saw out the window who _might_ be you in your silly fluffy hat. “You could have just called me, dude.”

“I _have_ called you. Like a hundred times.” Oh, yeah. Oops. Your phone is dead. You haven’t found a working charging dock in the old lair yet. You wonder if your brothers have tried calling, too, or if they’re too busy with their new life in the Foot to worry about you as much as they used to.

 _Not Raph,_ you amend yourself fairly. _Raph worries._

But it’s been awhile since you’ve seen him, too.

“Where’ve you been, amigo?” Woody’s asking, something like a mind-reader. “You haven’t come by Rupert’s in weeks, not even just to grab a pie. If you’re breaking up with me, there’s a classier way to do it.”

“Aw, bro, never. I’ve just been—y’know. Busy. Ninja stuff.”

“You look terrible, Mikester,” he says abruptly, almost before you finish. He’s frowning, pushing some of the curls out of his eyes to get a better look at you, and you blink at the scrutiny. You don’t look terrible, you look like usual. You _feel_ terrible, but you can’t wear that feeling like a scarf. There’s no way he could see it from his third story window, no way he could see it even right now under the struggling glow of the streetlamp.

You shy a step away anyway, just in case, and he follows you with a step forward.

“When’s the last time you ate?” He’s got that worried wrinkle in his face you recognize from April and Donnie and Leo, his hands folding into fists the way Raph’s do when he’s anxious, and you see so much of your family in him all at once out of _nowhere_ that homesickness hits you like a truck. “Mike, what’s going on?”

“There was a fight,” you say, as simply as you can. “I’m on my own now.”

You miss them a lot. You’re drifting without them. Slash is gone, and you’ve ruined what place you had with the Mutanimals—under all your layers, your arm is sore where Hob’s claws left their mark—and the old lair is too big to be comfortable, and every nook and corner reminds you of your dad and your brothers and how your world got tipped upside down.

But you can’t go back. You can’t be a part of that. You don’t _want_ that.

“Mikester,” Woody says, and your name from him means a hundred things all at once. “You’re _never_ on your own.”

You blink at him, and he’s a little blurry and wet, and then he’s reaching for you. He must be freezing, but he’s patient and kind and holding his hand out to you like there’s all the time in the world and it’s not the middle of the night—and you don’t even have to think. It’s Woody. You’ll always always take his hand.

He turns around and guides you back to his apartment building. You rub your eyes and sniffle a little, and he doesn’t look back at you, or ask any awkward questions. He just leads the way home, and squeezes your hand tighter every time you falter.


	25. Reparations (Splinter)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An anon on tumblr requested "2012 Mikey & Splinter bonding fluff," and this is what happened. Takes place after the events of season 4, when the boys have successfully saved earth and returned home.

Your boys reappear as abruptly as they vanished in the first place whole days ago, with a call to the Cheese Phone that calmed the storm of terrible fear in your heart. The four of them burst into the lair with reckless abandon while Leonardo is still on the phone with you– searching the front room with wide, manic eyes, and you forget your anger with them for scaring you as they have in face of those expressions.

"My sons," you say, coming to meet them swiftly, "I am so glad to see you are safe. I know adventures come along more frequently these days than they did before, but I still would appreciate a phone call when you won't be home for dinner."

There's a confusing, conflicting myriad of emotions on their young, smooth faces; but instead of shuffling meekly under your mild scolding the way they usually do, they turn bright eyes up to yours that look somehow _older_ than they have any right to, eyes that melt with tender, irrational _love._

It's clear they had their words to you planned beforehand, from their body language, and the structured, steady way the conversation flows; an explanation so vague it doesn't explain much at all. They want to omit the truth without telling a lie, and they can't seem to take their eyes off you, every inch of their armored bodies tense and taut with a tension you can't make sense of.

And then it's Michelangelo's turn to add to the rehearsed discussion, you can see Raphael prompt him even when Raphael doesn't move an inch or bat an eye in his direction; but when Michelangelo opens his mouth, starting into a bright and piping, "you wouldn't _believe- "_ his voice breaks. You are ill-prepared for the sound, and the slight amusement and soul-wracking relief fall away, parental concern taking their place firmly.

"What is it, Michelangelo?" you ask, your tone gentling of its own accord, because it's always so hard to watch this bright child cry. You reach across the slight distance that stands between you and your children–and _wonder_ at the way they hold their breath sharply, as your fingers come to rest against Michelangelo's cheek.

His eyes, wet to begin with, start to drip slow, earnest tears, and he covers your hand with both of his own. Soon his shoulders are shaking, and he's weeping openly, sheltered soul that he is, and clinging to you with the same strength that propels him so fleet-footedly through battle.

"I missed you so much," he sobs, and you don't hesitate to gather him in your arms. His brothers pile right behind him, all of them reaching around him to you, folding insistent fingers in your robes and your fur, crying altogether in a way they haven't since they were very young.

You don't have any idea what happened to hurt them like this, but you know what it takes to mend these precious hearts once more; all it takes is all the love you have to give, and that's been theirs from the very beginning.

"Hush, my sons, don't cry," you tell them gently, a familiar litany from long ago. "It will be alright. I am here."


	26. Things That Stay (Mikey & Don)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For Poetique823 on Fanfiction, who requested a sick Donnie, and a comforting Mikey. Since they didn't specify which 'verse, I defaulted back to 2k7.

"I'm just sayin', Donnie, you look a little _greener_ than usual. Are you sure you—"

"For the last time, Mikey, I'm _fine,"_ Don snapped—and regretted it a second later, when something irritated replaced the thoughtful concern in his brother's blue eyes.

"Okay then, _fine_ , I'll see you after work," came the unamused retort, and Mikey turned away to snatch up the keys to his catering van with possibly three times more force than necessary. "If you're done being grouchy, anyway," he added, without looking back, and Don winced at the sound of the door slamming closed behind him.

Great. Leo was in another country, Raph was consistently AWOL, and Don seemed to be doing his best to alienate the only brother he had that seemed willing to stick around and put up with him.

And on top of it all, he really _didn't_ feel fine. The headache he'd been nursing since earlier that morning was quickly shaping up into a migraine for the record books, and his stomach was churning with either guilt or nausea or some uncomfortable combination of the two, and the light of the computer screen and the shrill, tinny voices of the customers in his ear were both beginning to grate like knives.

Thankfully, all those years of training, as well as those spent playing doctor to the whole family, came in handy; Donatello was good at putting his own feelings and pain on the back burner. He had work to do. He'd apologize to Mikey later on—a _lot_ later on, he realized with a slow, sinking regret, _Mikey has three gigs today, he won't be home for dinner—_ and take a few pills, and be good as new in the morning.

But by the end of his shift, he was seeing double. Not a good sign. He signed out, and slid his headset off gingerly. Ow. Wincing, he turned off the computer, which had been the only thing illuminating the otherwise unlit lair, and blinked through the sudden, abrupt darkness. Ow. The real kicker, though, was when he tried to stand.

_Ow._

He sat down again quickly, head spinning. Without work to occupy the front of his mind, and all his senses online and unoccupied, Don had a whole brain free to focus on what he had been content to ignore.

He _hurt._ His stomach was tied into vicious knots, an unfortunately familiar pressure that had him surging upright again despite the dizziness and lurching toward the bathroom. He only barely made it to the toilet before he was heaving, and he spent the better part of the next hour there, emptying his stomach of the entirety of its contents and _then_ some.

"I'm never eating again," he moaned softly, forehead pressed to the cool porcelain lip of the toilet bowl. Even whispering felt akin to taking a railroad spike straight through the temple, and his eyes teared up involuntarily from the _pain_. His body was betraying him, he hurt so badly he must have been _dying,_ and wouldn't that be just the way—big bad ninja, taken out by a stomach bug, Raphael would have a _fit_.

If he would ever come out of his room, anway—otherwise he wouldn't even notice Donnie was gone. And Leo was too busy having his adventures to worry about little brothers, he hadn't even found time to write back to them _once_ in the last six months, he wouldn't care.

He was surprised by how much that thought hurt him, because if _he_ was gone that just left Mikey, who _would_ care. He'd care so much, he _always_ did, even when Donnie was being mean and stubborn after too many long days and restless nights, and it wouldn't be fair to leave him after all the _staying_ he'd been doing for the rest of them.

He gathered his strength, even though his limbs felt more like overcooked noodles than they had any right to, and began the laborious process of hauling himself to his feet. He needed to be okay now, so Mikey would be okay. He'd take some medicine, and lay down for awhile—there was half a dozen projects waiting for him in the lab, but he'd skip it tonight. They could wait. Leaning heavily on the wall, he made his way toward his bedroom and froze at the sight of the stairs.

Nope. No way.

Redirecting, he moved toward the lumpy couch in the den instead, the faded orange loveseat Mikey absolutely begged his brothers to help him drag home years ago, but he didn't make it another step before the word was tilting dangerously.

" _Woah_ , bro, take it easy. Didn't you hear me tell you to stay put?"

Don blinked, and it took a moment for him to register the arms wrapped around his shell and shoulders, bracing him against a firm plastron.

Mikey?

"Holy cats, Don, you're burning up. You didn't take any of the medicine I left out, did you? You stubborn jerk."

And it _was_ his Mikey, had to be him, only he could sound so warm and fond at that point, and the hand Don hadn't noticed on his forehead took up rubbing it gently.

"You had another party," Don said slowly, brow furrowing. "You weren't going to be home tonight."

"I canceled, dude. As if I'd actually leave you home alone when you're sick. I mean, I shouldn't have pulled a Raph and left you in the first place, that was pretty sucky of me. Now can you walk, or do I have to carry you?"

Somehow—Donnie really wasn't _sure_ how—they made it the rest of the way to the couch. "I have a fever," Don told him, and Mikey snorted.

"I heard you the first four times, Dee."

He rose and started to turn away, and Don—well. Don didn't think he could listen to the door slam again. Don wasn't _often_ the idiot party, for all that he was hard-headed he possessed enough common sense to (usually) make the smart call. But he could be stupid, and work himself to exhaustion, and lash out at his best friend and sometimes-only-family, and forget to apologize in lieu of Mikey's automatic forgiveness in the form of bringing dinner home, takeout from Don's favorite place on the corner, and he could sometimes take for granted what he had because just a little over a year ago he was used to having _more._

He didn't want Mikey to go, too. For all that he pushed him away sometimes, it wasn't ever because he wanted Mikey to go.

"Hey," his little brother said, leaning close all of a sudden, blue eyes like ocean windows Donnie, as dizzy as he is, might be able to slip into and drown inside of, but he had got a tight grip on Mikey's arm for safety, and—ah. No wonder Mikey was kneeling, and covering Don's hand with one of his own. "Ease up, bro. I'll be right back."

He was gone before Donnie can come up with any reason why he shouldn't go, and back again before Don could rightly be upset by that. Then he was bracing Donnie by the shoulders, and lifting him up to help him swallow a few small pills with a glass of cool water to wash them down, and Donnie winced at the uncomfortable pressure it puts on his stomach, and Mikey hummed something that might be an apology, easing him down again.

"Sorry for running you out earlier," Don said tiredly. Mikey patted his plastron fondly.

"It's okay, I'm used to your mood swings."

"I'll feel better in the morning."

"Nah, you won't. But I called your boss to let 'im know. Nice guy, totally chill with giving you a few days R and R."

Something in Mikey's overly innocent tone struck Donnie as hilarious, and he smiled through the ache in every inch of his body.

"You terrible flirt."

"Hey, whatever works, dude."

"Will you, uh—" He wasn't six years old anymore, it was embarrassing to ask. But it was also exactly something Mikey deserved to be asked, for a change, so Don soldiered on; "Will you stay with me?"

And Mikey could have teased him—Mikey always had one or six zingers on hand—but instead he just grinned lopsidedly, and climbed carefully over Donnie to squeeze into the tiny space left between his shoulder and the back of the loveseat, and said, "Are you kiddin'? You're in _my_ seat, dude, of course I'm stayin'."

Of course he was. He always did. Donnie blinked drowsily, and started to fall asleep, and the last thing he heard before he slipped through the dark was,

"I'm not leavin' you, Dee."


	27. A Stoic Mind, A Bleeding Heart (Mikey & Don)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for SilverExorcist405, who had a pretty specific prompt in mind about a prank gone wrong and a bet made between Mikey's brothers in the aftermath—one that leads to some harmful consequences. I took just a few liberties.

It was a stupid, _stupid_ bet.

Dismal weather kept them underground for the better part of two weeks, because most of the tunnels had flooded to a point that was dangerous even for them, and sensei was especially stern about keeping them home.

They were all going a little stir-crazy, and for irritating little brothers, that meant open season—as far as pranks and stupid jokes and _endless whining_ , anyway. It was only a matter of time before Leo or Raph snapped.

When they made the stupid, _stupid_ bet, Don had only been partly listening. His big brothers had gathered in the relative safety of his lab, the only place in the lair that Mikey had learned not to be too rough or rowdy in, and bone-deep irritation was evident in every line of their bodies. They didn’t have Don’s full attention, because the flooded tunnels had given him an idea for a new type of amphibious vehicle and he had enough raw materials stored up in the garage to start work on the frame right away, fingers itching to build from the blueprints up.

So when asked, “you want in on this action, Donnie?” Don hadn’t even looked up from the careful lines he was drawing with protractor and technical pen, just offered a cursory, off-handed “sure,” and sighed in relief when they finally left him alone.

Caught up in the very beginning of a new project, it was easy to forget the world outside his lab, even if that world was nothing more than the expanse of their underground home. Sensei gave him leeway during these times, even from training, because Don’s inventions improved their way of living and more than half of the things he built were for the good of the family. It was a sort of acknowledgment, and Don was grateful for it, and reveled in the extra hours he got to spend _building._

He would probably have gone without food, too, if not for the warm dishes that would manifest on the table just inside the door. He knew the handiwork of a certain freckled menace when he saw it, and even though the food had usually cooled by the time Don got around to eating it, it was always something odd and uniquely Mikey and ultimately tasty—he made probably half a dozen mental notes to pop out and thank him, but never quite remembered to.

When the weather finally cleared up, and they were granted permission to go topside again, Don’s car was taking shape; the skeletal frame and most of the engine had been built, but there were a few parts he needed, and he geared up for patrol eagerly. His brothers wouldn’t mind swinging by the junkyard on their way home, anything for a few extra minutes in the night air.

He sidled up beside Mikey while their father gave Leo a few parting reminders, and nudged his shoulder.

“Thanks for the food,” he said, with an easy grin to go with it, so Mikey would know he wasn’t being facetious. “I probably would have starved without you.”

Raph gave Don an odd look from Mikey’s other side, but that was nothing compared to the surprise in the wide, lamplike blue eyes that Mikey turned up to him.

“Oh,” his effervescent little brother said shortly, like he’d been wrong-footed by the thanks somehow. “No problem.”

Don blinked, but he didn’t get the chance to say anything else before they were moving out. The tunnels were still just this side of treacherous, and their pace was slowed but enthusiastic as they sprinted on foot toward their favorite junction. Cooped up for so long, they wanted to _run._

But Mikey’s strange behavior sat with Don, even as they played carelessly on the rooftops. Raph and Leo were in high spirits, racing each other with a rare, friendly rivalry instead of angry, caustic barbs, and that gave Don the chance to hop down to where Mikey was perched on the second highest level of a nearby fire escape.

The night air felt empty without Mikey’s wild whoops and laughter. He wasn’t even smiling; there was something too neutral about his expression, and he looked around like everything was more interesting than his present company, tapping his fingers against his arm in a restless way that didn’t make _sense,_ not with how quiet and still he had been all night. Was Don really the only one that noticed?

“Hey, Mikey,” he said, folding his elbows on the railing and leaning in to get a better look at his face. “Everything okay?”

His brother blinked at his closeness, and studied him for a long, blank moment, then shrugged one shoulder. “Fine.”

Not the most convincing of arguments. Don’s brow furrowed, not only because it so clearly a lie, but also, in part, because it wasn’t even a _good_ one. Mikey was quick as a whip, and he had a decided talent with words; dropping names right on the spot for any number of strange new things, stringing colorful stories together off the top of his head without waffling even once, _thriving_ before an audience in a way that was all his own, in a way Raph, Leo and Donnie all couldn’t quite manage without at least one, brief moment of self-consciousness. He was a bright, lively character, in absolutely every aspect of his life.

But the way he acted now was without effort. As if Donnie wouldn’t see through such an obvious lie, or as if he wouldn’t care.

“Not fine,” Don said, frowning deeply at him. “What’s gotten into you? You’ve barely said a word all night.”

All that got him was a tight, uncomfortable shrug. Decidedly unhappy, and borderline concerned, Don reached for him.

“If you’re not feeling well, we could always bail and head home,” he offered, watching the familiar lines of his brother’s face carefully, and squeezing his brother’s hand where it lay under his own. Always easy to be tactile with affection when it was Mikey, even though they were growing up and past that sort of thing. “There’s a sci-fi movie marathon on tonight, with all those terrible low-budget monster costumes you love.”

Mikey looked at him sidelong, and something warm began to surface in his eyes. “Really?”

And something was really, really wrong here, but at least now Mikey was leaning into him instead of away. And Don was good at fixing, he would get to the bottom of this. Whatever it was, Mikey would _always_ talk to him, even if he wouldn’t talk to anyone else, and Donnie would make this better.

He grinned encouragingly, and opened his mouth to cement the idea—only to be interrupted, _again._ The universe really wanted this mystery to remain raveled, it seemed, because suddenly Leo was shouting for them to fall in, and Bebop and Rocksteady were closing in on them at a run, alongside about two dozen Footbots.

Mikey moved away from him immediately, resuming his neutral mask, and Don gritted his teeth so hard he was surprised he didn’t break any.

 _Sewer_ _apples_.

For all his energy and enthusiasm earlier, Leo was playing it safe tonight; probably largely due to Splinter’s last-minute warnings as they left home, and when Raph only barely dodged a bullet—literally—Leo signaled a fall-back, face tight and terse. Raph was the one who threw the smoke bomb, because Mikey missed the silent cue, and then they pulled a vanishing act; crossing the street on a telephone wire, putting much needed distance between themselves and the Shredder’s henchman.

And then the cable under Donatello’s feet _wobbled,_ a _very_ disconcerting feeling, and he only made it the last handful of steps thanks to the arm Leo threw out for him, hauling him into safety as the cut wire fell.

But Raph’s hands were clenched, his face pinched tight in alarm, and Leo helped Donnie to his feet but didn’t spare him a glance, and Don followed their eyes to the opposite rooftop, and felt his blood run cold.

Mikey hadn’t made it across. His carapace was to them, nunchucks drawn, and something icy and terrible wrapped fingers around Don’s heart as Rocksteady advanced toward him in a lumbering run. Something cracked right next to him, with a high-pitched, rattling whine, and Don looked in time to catch the clawed end of a grappling hook shoot by, and catch one of the metal rails of the opposite fire escape, and loop around itself enough times to lock and hold securely.

Of _course_ their Fearless Leader brought his grappling gun. Thank _god_ for paranoid older brothers.

Leo tugged once, then twice, then braced one foot on the brick lip of their rooftop and readied himself. “Raph, go,” he said, and their red-banded brother wasted no time leaping onto the thin wire and crossing the street at a dead sprint at seven stories high. Leo’s teeth clenched but he refused to let his arms waver, and Don crossed the few feet between them to add his own muscle to the cause of keeping the line steady.

Rocksteady was moving too fast, and Mikey, cornered as he was, had nowhere to turn; Raph was only halfway across when he shouted, _“Mikey!”_ and reached out with one hand.

Only a very small part of Donnie wanted to shriek at the reckless endangerment of a jump like that, and he managed to stamp it down. The odds were only _almost_ impossible, and his brothers excelled at almost impossible, and Raph and Mikey were adrenaline junkies together. They had executed far riskier moves than this one, more times than Donatello could count on both hands, and Mikey in particular was practically an old pro at death-defying leaps of faith. So Don and Leo held on and waited for Mikey’s added weight, for Raph to catch him and then cut the cord, for the two of them to swing safely down to the ground in the adjacent alley.

But—

“Mikey, come on!” Raph called again, something newly desperate in his voice, but Mikey didn’t move. He turned, looking over his shoulder at Raph and Raph’s outstretched hand, and—

Hesitated.

* * *

Mikey didn’t wake up until Donatello had taped his cracked ribs and fingers, and smeared plaster in the new cracks in his shell, and stitched closed a long, ugly gash in his shoulder. His brothers lingered in the lab like ghosts, wide-eyed and pale-faced, and Don was so close to a furious meltdown that it was only their obvious contrition and shame keeping him from booting them out of the infirmary at _all._

It was a stupid, _stupid_ bet, and it nearly cost Mikey his life. They were disappointed enough in themselves that Donatello wasn’t sure yet if he would tell Splinter on top of that. If they had learned a lesson—and it seemed like they had—then anything else was just unnecessary and vindictive.

 _Even if,_ he thought with an internal, uncharacteristic snarl, _Mikey could use someone being vindictive_ for _him, for a change._

They were a _team,_ and their continued survival relied _heavily_ on the innate trust they had in each other. That’s why they were capable of almost impossible, that’s why leaps of faith came so easily. To screw that up, with a _stupid_ bet—to see who could avoid Mikey the longest, who could go without acknowledging him and his pranks and dumb jokes and endless laughter the longest, who could watch his smile fade day by day, in confusion, then hurt, then ultimately a neutral dispassion—was just…

Mean. Thoughtless, and selfish, and _mean._

Donatello wasn’t a doctor, but the signs were all there, and he would bet everything in his lab that Mikey had some form of ADHD. It was an untreated, honest to god behavioral disorder that Mikey _could not help,_ and his brothers had gone the extra mile in the wrong direction by treating it like some sort of character flaw. They hadn’t done it to be cruel, but cruelty had been accomplished regardless, and there were no words to describe how protective Donnie felt of his baby brother in those moments.

Splinter was smoothing a furred hand over Mikey’s head when the freckled turtle stirred, and Donatello sat forward in his chair.

“Hey, little brother,” he said warmly, infusing whole weeks’ worth of warmth in every word, and cupping Mikey’s face in one hand. “How do you feel?”

Caught in the honest space between sleep and wake, Mikey answered with a croaky, “Like I got hit by a rhino. Anyone get its number?”

Don kept him down with a hand planted on his scuffed plastron, when it looked like Mikey would try to sit up, and checked the dilation of his pupils. “You definitely have a concussion,” he said. “On top of everything else, looks like you’ll be stuck in here with me for a little while.”

Mikey’s eyes trailed to a spot over his shoulder, and something soft and sad happened to his expression, before it schooled again, a touch too distant to really be right. “That’s okay,” he said, shifting to sit upright again. “I’m okay.”

“You are _not,”_ Donatello said fiercely, and Splinter leaned over Mikey a moment later in agreement; reaffirming Don’s orders to remain in the infirmary until Donatello _himself_ gave the all-clear. Then he nuzzled the top of Mikey’s head, the rarest of gestures, usually reserved for close calls like this one—and maybe one of his older brothers would have squirmed or flushed at the attention, but Mikey endured it, and then Spinter was turning to ask Raph and Leo for their help in making dinner.

They lingered before they left, and some—not all, but _some—_ of Don’s anger floated away at how desperately sorry they were. He still shooed them out, though, with a curt, “He’ll be fine, go make the food,” and was left with Mikey staring at him from a bruised, uncertain face.

“Sorry,” he said cautiously.

“You have nothing to be sorry for,” Don replied, very clearly. “They told me about the stupid bet. I’ll make sure they don’t do it again.”

Mikey nodded at the floor, looking decidedly miserable and probably sore all over. “I can do this myself,” he added after a moment, with a gesture at the first aid kit open by Donnie’s feet, and some misplaced bravado that didn’t quite sit right in his voice. And Donatello put down the antiseptic, and picked up Mikey’s hand instead, squeezing hard enough that Mikey darted a quick glance at him.

“You are going to stay in this bed and let me take care of you until you’re better,” he said severely. “And you are going to be _honest_ with me about what’s hurting you, and you are going to heal, and then you are going to go back to being your ridiculous, obnoxious, incorrigible self, because so help me god, there isn’t _anything_ about you that I would change. Understood?”

“Woah,” Mikey said, but his eyes were— _finally,_ thank god—wide and warm, if a little too bright and too wet; and there was a smile tugging at his face that _belonged_ there, and his hand in Donnie’s was turning, so he could wrap his fingers around Don’s in turn. “Since when are _you_ the boss?”

“Since our big brothers decided to be stupid,” Don said, but he couldn’t help grinning back. “See if they get a ride in my new car.”

“You’re building a _car?”_

And Don would ask Mr. O’Neil about behavioral therapy or medicine for his baby brother, even just simple management advice was better than nothing—he was the only human psychologist who would be willing to help. And Don would talk to sensei about it, for sure. Their father was already patient with Mikey’s admittedly shallow well of focus, and Donnie had no doubt he would be willing to work with Mikey even further, with puzzles or exercises or a helpful routine.

But for now, he would keep Mikey close to him, and try to count the freckles on his face instead of the bruises, and explain his latest project in the simplest terms he could.

Mikey nodded slowly, looking at the empty and unfinished frame, and seeing its potential the same way Donatello always did of things empty and unfinished. He reached over with his good arm to poke carefully through the blueprints, blue eyes bright and darting like minnows, that hyperactive mind moving at a speed his brothers sometimes didn’t know how to check, and it was only a moment before he glanced up at Donnie, still tucked under his arm, and grinned.

“I think I get it. That’s pretty rad, Dee. Let’s call it the _Sewer Slider.”_

Really—honestly—there was nothing about him Donnie would be willing to live without.


	28. Magari (Leo - Problem Child AU)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An anon on tumblr requested Leo/Mikey fluff in my Problem Child 'verse. This is close to that.

Leo sits beside mamma on the couch, while she reads from her favorite book. The window is open, and the long yellow curtains are rocking in the breeze, and mamma has a hand resting on her round belly, rubbing circles slowly for the baby inside.

Leo puts his hand there, too, and looks up at her. _"Stai bene?"_

He worries about her, the way he does when Raphie climbs too high or Donnie touches things he shouldn't. Mamma doesn't sing anymore, doesn't make pictures with bright paint and brushes anymore. Leo had to make his brothers breakfast this morning, dry cereal because he couldn't open the milk, because mamma didn't wake up until lunch time. Leo doesn't mind helping with chores while his brothers get to watch cartoons and play, he just wants mamma to feel better.

She smiles at him, pulls him against her side and kisses him right between the eyes.

 _"Si, tutto va bene._ I'm trying to pick a name for your new _fratellino_ , _"_ she says, and even though she's still smiling she sounds tired. Leo looks at the pictures while she turns the pages. Mamma picked all their names from this book, and her fingers brush carefully across long words Leo can't read. "Hmm, Giovanni– how does Jovan sound, _mimmo_? Or Tiziano?"

She keeps talking and turning pages, and then he leans forward. "Mamma?" he asks, pointing at one of the glossy pictures, one of bright color and bright windows and towering walls. She pauses, and tilts the book so he can see it better.

"That is the Sistine Chapel, _cucciolo_. It is amazing, isn't it? The artist used a method called _buon fresco,_ mi Leo–in which you have to work very quickly, without making mistakes. But its colors last years and years." She smooths her hand over the picture, and looks thoughtful. "It took him a very long time, but he never gave up. He took something as plain as a ceiling and made it beautiful for us, made it wonderful."

" _Chi?_ " Leo asks. "Who was he?"

"Michelangelo," mamma says, and her smile comes back, warmer than before. It's a long name, but it rolls off her tongue cheerfully, and Leo is caught by the _'angel'_ at the end. He leans his head down to meet his hand where it rests on the big swell of mamma's tummy. "Is this the one, _cuore mio?_ Is this the name of your new baby brother?"

" _Si_. I like it," Leo says, heavy with happiness and hope. Mamma starts to hum, and stroke a hand through his hair, and Leo hopes they can sit like this for a little while longer. Hopes Michelangelo is listening when he whispers, very quietly, " _Voglio un angelo._ To help mamma."

But maybe also, a little bit, to help Leo, too.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't usually do a glossary of terms like this, but there was a lot of Italian, so:
> 
> Stai bene? "You okay?"
> 
> Si, tutto va bene. "Yes, everything is okay."
> 
> Fratellino. "Little brother."
> 
> Mimmo. "Baby." (Term of endearment.)
> 
> Cucciolo. "Puppy." (Term of endearment.)
> 
> Buon fresco. "True fresco."
> 
> Chi? "Who?"
> 
> Cuore mio. "My heart."
> 
> Voglio un angelo. "I want an angel."
> 
> Bonus:
> 
> Magari. "Maybe, I hope, I wish."


	29. Cold Trigger (Mikey & Leo - Wishes AU)

When Mikey first started coughing, Leo assumed it was from the combination of cold and wind. They'd been at it for nearly an hour, sailing down the steep, snow-covered hill and then dragging their sleds to the top again, pink-faced and bundled within an inch of their lives in warm, faux-fur-lined coats.

It wasn't until Mikey started rubbing his chest, and his smile had faded into something closer to a grimace, tight and uncomfortable, that Leo drew up short.

"Everything okay, Mikey?" he asked, pitching his voice louder to be heard over the wind. Mikey nodded, like a knee-jerk reaction.

"Yeah, I'm good," he said hoarsely, but he didn't sound particularly convinced. He stood there for a moment, taking stock, then seemed to shake it off; the freckled, cat-hatted kid shot Leo a winning grin, the same grin that got him out of trouble a good eighty percent of the time, and added, "Guess I just lost my breath for a second!"

And really, there was no reason to assume it was anything else, so Leo let himself relax. When Raph and Donnie finally dragged themselves and their plastic toboggan the last exhausted few feet to the top of the hill, Mikey called a loud "Me and Raph next!", and Leo gestured Don over as the inevitable scuffle broke out between their blond brothers over who got front and who got back.

Predictably, Don's brow furrowed when Leo was finished, and Raph's whoop of laughter drew his brown eyes to their brothers' blur of warm colors as it shot down the probably-too-steep-to-really-be-safe declivity.

"It could just be the weather," he said, slowly, visibly wracking his brain. "Sensei hasn't let me read Mikey's file, but I know Mrs. O'Neil mentioned that he used to have to use a nebulizer when he was little. I just hadn't thought– "

" _Leo!"_

And that panicked tone from Raphael from the bottom of the hill had Leo in motion before his brain had a chance to catch up to his body. The coarse rope handle of his blue sled saucer was still in hand, and a moment later he was all but flying to meet his little brothers.

He wiped out a little bit at the end, but he rolled with it and surged gracelessly to his feet, letting the sled scoot away and joining Raph where he was crouched next to Mikey. Donnie wasn't far behind.

"He just started coughing and he couldn't stop," Raph said, green eyes bright with fear. "I don't think he can breathe. Shit, Leo, he sounds bad– "

"Calm down," Leo said– to Raph or Mikey or maybe himself, because his hands were shaking with more than cold. "Mikey, it's okay. Try to slow down, okay?"

"Help him sit up," Donnie instructed, grabbing one of Mikey's arms. Leo scooted closer, sliding an arm around Mikey's shoulders and bracing him when he made it upright. "Raph, my phone's in the car– we need to call 911. This looks like an asthma attack, and we don't have Mikey's inhaler."

Raph's face was white, but he took off without another word. Luckily, the parking lot was beside the hill, not atop it, and the snow was already packed enough that he was able to run unhindered. Leo's heart was in his throat, his fingers curling into the sleeve of Mikey's yellow coat.

"I didn't know he had an inhaler," he said tightly, and Don's didn't even look up at him.

"Neither did I. Mikey, you have to stay calm or you're going to hyperventilate. Breathe slow, buddy– in through your nose, out through your mouth. That's it, there you go. It must have been the cold," he added, more to himself, something dark and dangerous in his face. "Weather can be a trigger. It was twenty-four degrees when we came out here, but with the windchill it may as well have been _ten_."

"How long do these last?" Leo asked, when Mikey continued to heave in his arms, the throaty gasps as his youngest brother struggled for air just about undoing him.

"From minutes to hours. I don't know anything about Mikey's asthma, I have no idea what his treatment plan is, I didn't know he _had_ it– "

The crunching of snow under tires had Leo looking up, as Raph pulled their father's Subaru off the road and into the park. There were blankets in the back, and if Leo remembered correctly hot chocolate in a thermos for the ride home, and by the time the three of them had maneuvered Mikey into the backseat he was wheezing louder than before, but his white-knuckled fists had loosened.

"No, that's good," Donnie said, moving quickly. "Wheezing means the oxygen is moving in his lungs, it's a better sign than a _silent_ chest would be _._ Raph, hospital."

Raph was still on the phone with the emergency services, but he passed the phone over to Donnie when Donnie climbed into the passenger seat, and Leo was left to wrap a blanket around Mikey's shoulders and pull him closer, trapped in the pocket of the last five minutes.

"Sorry," Mikey rasped, "it's been forever since I had one, I didn't know I still– "

"Hush, it's okay," Leo said, reaching over to take the thermos Donnie was passing back. "Here, drink some cocoa. This should have cooled down enough to be nice and warm."

Mikey took the drink agreeably enough, bringing it carefully to his lips. But his eyes were bright and even with his ragged breathing and the trembling in his fingers, his expression looked ready to crumple at any second with shame. Leo let his cheek rest on the crown of Mikey's head.

"Don't cry. We'll just be more careful from now on."

"I ruined sledding."

"Shut up, or I will stop this car and crawl back there and choke you," Raph announced from the driver's seat, taking his eyes off the road to glare at Mikey in the rearview mirror. "Don't think I won't."

"Oh, you won't," Don said dryly, lifting his phone from his mouth for a moment, "because you need to get us to the hospital in a timely fashion. _I'll_ crawl back there and choke him."

Donatello's deadpan lightened the atmosphere by spades– if he could joke, he wasn't as worried as he was before– and Leo felt himself heave a sigh of relief.

"Hey, I already tried to choke me," Mikey was protesting weakly, a tentative smile lurking in the corners of his mouth. "Ain't that enough?"

The hospital was only minutes away. Donnie talked to the triage nurse while Raph stepped out into the hall to call their father, and Leo didn't let go of Mikey even once.


	30. Headstrong and Our Hearts are Gone (Mikey & Don)

Your big brothers are idiots. You’ve never known _any_ _other_ two people who could turn even guilt into a competition.

“It’s _my fault,_ I wasn’t payin’ attention—”

“I was leading, I should have—”

“No, I let Casey talk me into a contest and then Mike had to watch my back, it wasn't—”  

“I can’t believe I let this happen again.”

And with that admission, the fight behind you reaches an uncomfortable standstill. The looming silence makes the skin on your arms and the back of your neck crawl. But you don’t look up or turn around. Mikey is still and quiet on the infirmary bed, small and fragile-looking without all that noise and energy he usually carries around with him. Leo and Raph have enough attention, you think, all wrapped up as they are in one another. So you focus instead on the stitches you’re making in your baby brother’s arm, closing an ugly, gaping gash that’s sure to scar with careful, steady strokes of your hand.

He fell a long way this time, he fell hard, and he was confused when he woke up.

He blinks at you, numbed by the topical medicine and unconscious of the nylon thread you’re pulling through his thick skin.

“Hey,” he says suddenly, voice scratchy, and you afford him a warm smile.

“Yeah?”

He tries a smile back in response, but it’s a little slow and uncertain, and you realize he’s trying to make you familiar. It feels like you’ve swallowed ice. You tie off the last stitch, and lean away to wipe your hands in the basin of water on the floor by your feet. Drying them on the edge of the blanket, where it hangs over the side of Mikey’s cot, you lean over him.

If the bed was bigger, you would crawl in with him. You settle for laying an arm over his cracked plastron, pushing cool fingers against his forehead, and the fever-warmth there that has yet to break. He watches you with dull eyes, and something ugly and toothed and _mean_ comes alive inside you, seeping through the fingers of your ribcage like hot tar. Leo and Raph are arguing again in the next room, and you can hear them clearly through the open door, and for a brief, breathtaking moment, you _hate._

Then Mikey’s fingers are curling around yours, and his grin is something sturdy and familiar. “Hey,” he says again, “you look tired.”

Oh, thank god.

“Any extended period of time spent in your company will do that to a person,” you say dryly, for the sake of the mirth it brings out in Mikey’s eyes. Your hands aren’t shaking; you’ve been through this too many times before. “Though to be fair, this time, you spent most of it sleeping.”

Something crashes in the living room, and your other brothers are shouting again. “I’m going to get one of you _killed_ one of these days! I’m not fit to lead you! You’d be better off without me, _just like you said!”_

The cheer bleeds out of Mikey’s face as fast as falling, and you feel ugly again. You get up, and say, “Be right back.” He doesn’t quip a cheeky “I’ll just wait here!”—the joke is in his battered body and the strength he lacks to stand, he would think that’s hilarious—and the absence of his good humor propels you even faster out the door.

Leo is closest, his back to you. Raph sees you over his shoulder, and his eyes widen. Your expression must be telling. You grab Leo by the arm, turn him sharply, and throw all your weight into a punch that catches him on the side of the face and sends him staggering. Your hands were _doctoring_ just a few minutes ago, careful and precise with needle and forceps, and now they’re _battering_ , clenched and bruising around the knuckles. Leo didn’t fall with your blow, and you’re partly surprised it even landed.

But it did, and the silence in the lair belongs to you.

“Mikey’s awake,” you say without preamble. “Since neither of you stopped in to check.” They’re frozen in place by your quiet contempt, the way you even _breathe_ angrily. It’s seeping from every pore, you’re so, so hurt by them this time that it’s twisting into something fierce and sharp and furious, because it’s easier to be angry than sad. “But he’s going to be off his feet for a few weeks. I’m going to call April and Casey, and take him up to the farmhouse in a few days. It’ll be good for him to get out of here.”

 _It’ll be good for him to get away from you,_ you don’t say. You can’t bring yourself to.

Their bitter resentment and constant contest with each other, the guilt and self-recrimination and blame, feels like secondhand smoke. It’s poisoning your lungs and giving you cancer and you are _dying_ here, suffocating in their fumes and ash. Splinter died a year ago, and something broke in your family and never got better, and you can fix a lot but you can’t fix everything.

You spin on your heel, and hurry back to the lab, and your arms go out to Mikey because he’s leaning heavily on his arm in bed. His face is on the verge of crumpling, freckles stark and eyes wide, and you wonder how much he heard.

“I told you I was coming right back,” you say, guiding him back down. “Everything’s okay, Mikey, just get some rest.”

His fingers curl around yours, and he searches your eyes; trying to make you familiar.


	31. Bright Smiles (Raphael - SAINW)

The sewers haven't been _home_ for years, and they haven't been safe since Splinter died - but sometimes Raph finds himself down there, anyway. Sometimes he's in the area, and surveillance drones come too close, Foot soldiers cut off his route, and he slips underground, because somehow it's still like second nature.

He knows these tunnels like the back of his hand, and he could close his eyes and walk the rest of the way to the lair totally blind if he let himself. Muscle memory. Totally blind in _both_ eyes, he could always find his way back -

But it's not home. Hasn't been for a long time. And he turns left at the next junction instead of right, but even as far out of the way as he tries to go, the tunnels are still familiar.

This was their playground, growing up. They explored every inch of the dark underground, while human kids their age got to play in the sun.

Raph isn't bitter about it, though. Not like he used to be. It seems pretty redundant, considering there's no sun for _anyone_ anymore, and there never will be again.

Coming up - there on the right, next to the service ladder - there's a mess of low-hanging pipes and a narrow, slanting maintenance tunnel, and the way through is a little tighter than Raph remembers, but he goes through anyway.

Heart in his throat, he digs in his jacket pocket for a penlight, and searches the expanse of dull cement for - _there._ Childish loops and lines of spraypaint in faded colors, four names and four cartoony faces tagged there forever in this secret little playground under New York City.

God, they were something else when they were kids. Him and his brothers. Wild and troubled and indestructible. They had each other and that's all they needed, and in their youth there was nothing, nothing they couldn't do.

Then they lost Donnie. Then they lost Splinter, and Casey. Then Raph and Leo ruined what little else they had in one final, brutal, explosive argument, and their broken family was the only causality of war _that_ time. Maybe Mikey could have forgiven them for that, maybe - he always believed in people long after they stopped deserving it, he _still_ believed Donnie might come home one day - but Raph had never come asking his forgiveness. Had never tried earning it.

Hadn't found out until three weeks after the fact that his baby brother had lost an arm to this impossible war he and April were still waging, and Mikey had met him with cool eyes that day, still pale and sick with fever, still standing over a map and leading his army. Still standing despite everything they've lost, still fighting tooth and nail to make their father proud. To make _Donnie_ proud.

And he's still Mikey. The rebels love him, he and April have grown impossibly closer, his people will follow him to Hell and back if he'd only give the order. He's growing into himself, growing up, and leaving the unnecessary parts of himself behind.

There's something hot and tight in the back of Raph's throat as he reaches forward, his fingers sliding softly across a withered purple, where it bleeds into a boisterous orange. That toothy smile isn't as bright as it used to be.

And for a moment he remembers, plain as day, his brothers clustered here around him - they don't have to bow under the low ceiling, closer to ten years old than eleven and short enough that they can stretch on tiptoes and not reach the top. And they gather against the wall, painting and arguing and staining their fingers and laughing in a way that probably echoes for miles -

Raph's first, self-conscious attempts to draw had been a little wobbly. Mikey had leaned over his shoulder and nudged and urged him into trying again and again.

_"C'mon, Raph, I believe in you!_ _You can do better!"_

"I can't," Raph mutters to the dark, fingers folding into a fist against a once-bright smile. "I'm sorry."


	32. Warm January (Murakami)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been writing a few ficlets for a "human characters appreciation week" over on tumblr, and here's on about Murakami-san. :)

You were born blind, and so you have learned to see the world in a way that most others can’t.

There are things you miss, certainly – nuances of expression, movement, the intention a person might give away with their body language when they mean to wrong or hurt you – but there are even more things you see more clearly than you ever would with a working pair of eyes.

And when the bell above the door chimes softly, half an hour before your shop closes for the night, and a young voice greets you with an enthusiastic, “Hi, Murakami-san,” you know immediately that something is wrong.

It is Michelangelo, the youngest and wildest of your new turtle friends, but there is something in his voice that’s different, something a person might not notice if they have more than his voice to take in and consider. An expression is distracting, you think, and a person can say a lot they don’t mean with their eyes and their smile and the careful way they carry themselves through the world.

You aren’t taken in by any of those things. You only have to listen, and pick out an undercurrent in his tone that doesn’t belong there, and you know – though you don’t know the scale or the circumstances – that he is unhappy.

“Hello, Mikey,” you greet him, and you make sure your voice is warm. He was insistent that you use his nickname because _“everyone does!”_ and so you do. He and his brothers usually move without a whisper of sound, but they seem to take into account that you use their footfalls as a holding place, since otherwise you wouldn’t be able to guess where to direct your half of the conversation; and so Mikey’s feet plod noisily toward the counter, the chains of his nunchucks rattling against the counter as he leans his weight there. “How are you this evening?”

“I’m peachy,” he says, and the cheer in his voice isn’t faked or forced, but it is still, somehow, false. He is a lively child, yet trained with his brothers in the ancient arts of deceit; and you can only think that, perhaps, no one would ever know he was hurting unless he let them. And from what little you know of him, you can parse that he wouldn’t often want anyone to know that. “April called in our dinner order, right?”

“Yes, she did,” you tell him, moving away to the takeout bags you had prepared just a few moments prior to his arrival. You hear him rustle, and add, “I hope you know better than to try paying for this.”

He freezes, caught, and you turn back to him with a smile.

“Your money is no good here. I would not have a shop if not for you.” He doesn’t say anything, and a beat of silence from Michelangelo is more silence from him than bodes well – he has something to say about everything, harmless chatter that usually fills the air like dozens of swelling balloons. And so you set his family’s food on the counter (gyoza for the boys and oden for their father) and add, when he hesitates to take it, “It has been so cold this winter. If I can make your lives any warmer with a simple dish of food, than it will make me happy to do so.”

For a moment, nothing. And then, in an abrupt burst, he clambers half over the counter, chains clanking noisily against polished wood, and the food is squashed between you as he throws hardened arms around your shoulders.

And it’s in these moments you are reminded how alien he must look – his shell is smooth against your hands, still cold from his journey through the January night, and you wonder if he and his brothers are as hardy against the cold as humans, or if they retain a turtle’s need for warmth. You think you might ask Miss O'Neil to bring them some scarves.

“Sorry for the hug attack! You just _super_ deserved a hug for that one, dude,” he says as he pulls away – and you smile inwardly, pleased, because that sad shadow in the boy’s voice has gone, like a cloud having passed over the sun.

Mikey is a simple thing, even with his secrets and his fears, and that is no character flaw. You do not know him well, and you still don’t know what might be wrong in his life – you only know that all he needs, on days like these, is kindness.

The bell above the door rings again, and Mikey doesn’t flinch, so you can only assume it’s one of his brothers. And then, sure enough, Donatello’s voice murmurs, barely audible, “Oh, thank god.” And then, louder, “I was hoping I’d catch up to you here. Hi, Murakami-san.”

You nod in greeting, while Mikey says, “It was just a fight. I’m not gonna go AWOL, Don, I’m not Leo.”

“I know. But I was worried about you.”

It is cold outside in a way that clings and creeps, but your kitchen and your company keeps you warm. And it’s Donatello who picks up the bags, because Mikey gripes “I can get it _myself_ , Donnie!” – but the words are shaped like a smile.


	33. Too Young (Casey & Don)

_"You're too young to hate the world."_

It sort of rankles at first, being talked down to by a kid in high school, a _human_ kid, who has no idea what you've been through, what you're dealing with, how damn _cruel_ and _hateful_ and _unfair_ this world is -

But you take a breath, hold it, and let it go. He's not talking down to you. He knows the world. He's seen the worst of it with you. He knows what you've lost, what you're missing. He's missing it, too.

And you have to be okay, you have to. Raph can't, he _can't,_ and Leo is so lost, so it has to be you to keep them going. Keep them strong. Keep them standing under this weight, this silence, this hole the Shredder ripped clean out of you-

But you're trembling, crumbling under this impossible hurt, and your voice comes out broken when you remind Casey, "He was too young, too."

Casey's arms wrap around you, and the heartbreak is squeezing tighter than any embrace ever could, crushing your heart into a muddy pulp, and you take a breath, hold it, let it go. You have to be okay. Your family needs you to be - he would want you to be.

And you _try_ for them, you really try - but soon, the grief will bleed into something toothed and ugly, and you will hate as much as you ever loved.

Mikey is dead. Screw the world.


End file.
